


Venturing the Uncharted

by nazzy



Category: Baldur's Gate, Forgotten Realms
Genre: Elves, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friendship/Love, Gen, Intrigue, Original Character(s), Spin-Off, Suldanessellar, from the Underdark to the surface
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-07-03 11:29:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 85,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15817986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nazzy/pseuds/nazzy
Summary: Solaufein came to the surface because he had nowhere else to go. Now he finds himself on a path he has no map for.





	1. Learning Curve

**Author's Note:**

> This fic begins during the events of Chapter 23 of my story Destiny and then...goes off on its own. I hope you enjoy it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I cannot imagine how it must feel, to be a foreigner here, so quickly tried and judged by all."_

 They sat against the wall of a little used balcony on the second story of the temple of Rillifane, watching the stars appear one by one in the gray-violet sky. This was Solaufein’s favorite time of day, when the sun had faded and the cool of evening set in, and he was engaging in one of his favorite pastimes. He had come to the surface knowing a few phrases in Common, and the bare basics of syntax. Maera had offered to help him learn by practice, and so they had been meeting on the balcony once every few days ever since her victory over Irenicus. She was a patient teacher, and he enjoyed the company. It was pleasant to have the opportunity to be himself. The people of Suldanessellar required careful handling - conciliatory expressions, and deferential words. But Maera needed no such niceties, and that made their bilingual chats the high point of his week.

"So, do you think you're going to stay here?" she asked. Solaufein had to take a moment to parse the sentence and prepare his response.  
  
"Yes. I think I stayed."  
  
"Will stay," she corrected, then switched to Elvish. "Future tense."  
  
He made a face. "Tenses in Common are so strange. Adding words, taking them away, changing the order... it’s disorganized."  
  
"I admit, Elvish tense structure is a lot more elegant. But," she shifted back to Common, "you are improving."  
  
"Thank you," he replied, also in Common. "But my accent..."  
  
She waved a hand dismissively. "Everybody has an accent. Grammar and vocabulary are what really matter.” She laced her fingers behind her head, glancing at him sidelong. “I am curious, though,” she said, returning to Elvish once more. “Why stay?”

He mentally thanked her for the switch. He wasn’t sure his Common was up to the task of explanation. “Because…there seems to be relative safety here. Safety to learn the ways of the surface. The Queen has very generously offered me sanctuary here, and I would be a fool not to accept it. I cannot change my appearance, but at the very least, I can learn enough of the language and customs to ease my passage through the world.”

“Good plan. And maybe you can get comfortable enough you don’t flinch every time you walk outside.” She grinned slyly at him. He raised an eyebrow, feigning disapproval, and she laughed. “Sorry, sorry. That was cheap, I know.”

“It was. You should be ashamed.” He said this in Common, and she gave a delighted clap of her hands.

“Very good! Two verb tenses, _and_ an auxiliary! I am impressed.” Her smile grew softer and she said, “Joking aside, I know this isn’t easy for you. On any level. You’re making the best of a less than optimal situation, and I think that says a lot about you.”

“It helps having a friend here I may rely on.” He returned the smile; it was his turn to be sly. “Though I wonder where I might find one.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, that eminently human gesture that never failed to make him laugh. “Who made the mistake of telling you that you’re funny?”

“I require no one’s validation to know the truth,” he replied. She shook her head, chuckling, and he watched her smiling profile for a moment. He had never thought he would call a female friend, but friend she was, and he was glad for it.

She was gazing upward, towards the palace. “It’s getting late. I should head back.”

“I am sure your return is ardently anticipated.” He succeeded in keeping his features neutral, but the battle to keep a smirk out of his voice ended in defeat. She swung a friendly punch at his shoulder.

“Gods, you are such an ass.” She stood, and stretched her shoulders. “By the way, will I see you at the consecration tomorrow?”

He glanced to the side. “I rather doubt it. I’m not sure my presence during such an event would be wise.”

“You shouldn’t have to hide, though. Rillifane obviously doesn’t have a problem with you being in his temple. I mean, Oghma’s books, you’re living here!”

“I think my living quarters are more a matter of expediency for the Whiteleaf. Easier for her to keep an eye on me.”

“Give her a little credit, Solaufein. She’s not spying on you. She has other things to do with her time.”

“True. But I do not think that she trusts me.”

“Why wouldn’t she?”

He simply looked at her, choosing not to dignify such an obvious question with a response. Maera raised her hands in defeat. “Fine. Be a suspicious neurotic.”

“You mean, be a drow?”

She shook her head. “I won’t tell you not to be yourself, Solaufein, but what you were saying about learning the customs of the surface? Trust is one of them.” She turned for the door. “Well, if I don’t see you tomorrow, I’m sure I will soon. Have a good night.”

The moon was cresting the treetops, and Solaufein watched it for a long while after she had departed. What he had not been able to bring himself to tell Maera was that he hoped she was right, that he did have the Whiteleaf’s trust. She was an intriguing figure - blunt, commanding, and as self-possessed as any priestess he had ever known before. But she had allowed her initial opinion of him to be swayed, and spoken for him in the face of her friend the General’s disapproval, and wept over the bodies of those she had resurrected. And she was clever. Dangerously, curiously clever. He shrugged to himself as he stood. It was good to have an ally he could respect, but he had a feeling that was the most he could expect from Suldanessellar, and from her. He certainly had no illusions of being her friend.

⁂⁂⁂

In the end, he did go to the consecration, though not in the manner anyone would have expected. He had been given a small room in the uppermost story of the temple, which suited him quite well. After all, he had brought nothing with him from the Underdark, so he did not need much space. In his explorations of the great structure, he had discovered there was a half-enclosed balcony, nearly invisible behind a pillar, that looked down into the sanctum, and it was from there that he chose to watch the ceremony.

Phaere had been so excited to hear of the desecration of this place, and for a moment, in her pride, she had almost looked like her old self again. But like every emotion since her time with the Handmaidens, there had been malignancy in it. The female who had returned from those weeks of torment was like a vampire, in a way. She had looked, moved, and sounded like she was still alive, but within, there had been nothing but a blasted wasteland. _And this is what your pride earned you, Phaere_ , he thought. _They live, and renew themselves, and you are dead._ The pang that thought gave him was surprising. He had thought his grieving for her was long done, but apparently this last small measure had remained, waiting for the day when she truly beyond his reach.

The elves below him, bright in their festive finest, solemnly chanted the responses of the litany that Demin led. In a room packed full of vivid colors, she was almost exotic in her simple white robes, a crown of oak leaves holding back her long hair. Her face was raised, an expression of tempered joy upon it. It was his understanding that the primary virtues of the Leaflord were strength and endurance, and she seemed to radiate both in abundance. It was clear she had not come to her current position by chance. He did have to wonder, however, how one rose to such a height when assassination was not an acceptable form of career advancement. Did others of the faithful decide who was foremost among them, or did Rillifane himself speak on the matter? He was so deep in thought on the subject that he actually focused on the scene below him again, he was shocked to see her looking directly at him. But it was only for an instant, and then her eyes were elsewhere.

It was not a long ceremony, and after the participants had streamed out of the temple to enjoy the pleasures of a festival day, Solaufein gazed down at the altar, remembering the whirling form of Rillifane’s avatar. “I will try to make the best of the mercy you showed me,” he murmured. “Carry good report of me to your lady sister.”

He didn't hear the rustle of cloth and the footsteps until they were upon him. There was so much _noise_ in Suldanessellar, and sound seemed to travel differently on the surface. But making excuses wouldn't change the fact he was just going to have to learn to accommodate for the differences. He turned quickly, and found himself facing the Whiteleaf. "This was one of my favorite solitary places when I was an acolyte," she said. "I'm surprised none of the current crop seem to have discovered it. Or perhaps they have and I have simply failed to notice. That happens as we grow older."

He bowed his head deferentially. "Whiteleaf. How may I be of service?" 

"No service is required. I merely noticed you skulking about in the rafters like a bat, and I wondered why."

"I did not think it politic to be among the throng, today of all days. This ceremony was necessary because of the actions of others of my kind." He shot her an ironic glance. "You yourself were quite eager to remind me of that, I recall." 

If the jab had been an actual blow, it would not have even turned her head. Her lips twitched, and in the movement, he could see a swell of sarcasm, seeking out a target. But her expression remained cool, and she replied, "It is unfortunate you must be so conscious of the sentiment of others. However, it is probably well that you are." She began to turn away, then added, "I will leave you to your solitude, but I do hope it will not become habitual."

She departed through the narrow door with a sweep of her skirts, and he murmured, "Others than just myself must be the test of that, Whiteleaf."

⁂⁂⁂

Demin sat at her desk the next morning with a contented sigh. The twitching sense of wrongness she had felt while the temple remained desecrated was gone now, replaced with the serene hum of energy she had missed. Like a living body, the temple’s hurts required mending to allow for proper function to return, and so long as it had remained wounded, its pain had been her own.

But that was behind them now. Now, they could move forward, the city could revive, and the work of the temple could continue. The windowed doors that opened onto the balcony were flung open to let in every breath of the summer morning, and outside, the sound of rebuilding mingled with the voices of the populace, returning to their normal lives. Demin looked about the tiny kingdom that was her freshly cleaned office with a pleasure that could have only been improved on with a cup of tea and a warm foot bath. Then there was a knock at the inner door, and Oakheart Latiel, the senior priestess who served as her secretary and aide, pushed it open, a sheaf of papers beneath her arm. Demin’s sigh took on a wistful air. If someone had told her, in her younger, more innocent days just how much _management_ the Leaflord’s temple required, she would have never believed them. Her predecessors had always made it look easy. She liked to think she’d learned to as well. It would never be her favorite part of her work, but she knew she could never leave to anyone else. 

“And what joy have you for me today, Latiel?” she asked. Latiel smiled. 

“Nothing out of the ordinary, Whiteleaf,” the Oakheart replied. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever looked forward to bringing you your day’s appointments as much as I have today. It’s quite pleasant to be able to return to one’s routine, isn’t it?”

“That it is, Latiel. More than I would have imagined.”

From outside, there was a harsh, snorting laugh. Latiel craned her neck towards the open door, and they shared a puzzled glance before she replied. “Uh…Silverbark Tafaelen wanted to speak with you this morning, and-”

“Don’t just walk away!" 

The voice was young, and male, and filled to its brim with scorn. A second joined it, equally venomous. “You’re not fooling anyone.” The reply was too soft for the words to be understood, but Demin had a sudden, stomach-tightening sense that she recognized the voice. The second speaker spat back, “The Queen and the Whiteleaf may have bought that Eilistraee shit, but we’re not falling for it, drow.”

Demin thrust herself to her feet, her chair tipping backwards behind her in her haste. She made it to the balcony just in time to see Solaufein turn, jaw clenched and fist raised, to throw the first punch.

⁂⁂⁂

“Idiot.”

It hurt like hell when Demin brusquely turned his head to examine the side of his face, but Solaufein didn't dare complain. To do so would only infuriate her further, so he gritted his teeth and did not make a sound.

The fight was over by the time she got outside, but the fury in her eyes when she stormed towards him had left him with little doubt she would have ended it herself if necessary, and it probably would have been far bloodier had it be left to her. As it stood, she had cleared out the gathered onlookers with a single glare, barked orders to see to the pair of injured guards, and forcibly dragged him back into the temple to the empty antechamber in which they now stood. She was stronger than she looked, and his shoulder still ached from the grip of her fingers.  
  
"Barely a scratch or bruise," she muttered. "How did you manage that? Faarien has a concussion, Thelarias is missing half his teeth, and you escape untouched."  
  
"Their unarmed combat needs work," he replied, his jaw moving stiffly in her grasp.  
  
She raised an eyebrow. "Was that a joke?" she asked, her tone dangerous.  
  
"An observation," he said hoarsely. Having his head at that angle made speech difficult, and she released him. He could not help the wince that followed, and she did not miss it. "My neck," he explained. She prodded along the side of his neck with her fingers, and all seemed fine until she struck a spot just above his shoulder. He saw stars.  
  
"Hmmm," she mused, paying little mind to his hissing breaths. "You probably pulled it when you flung Faarien over your shoulder."

"Then I am in need of practice myself."

Her mouth tightened. "By the Oak, Solaufein, will you leave off your witticisms? What possessed you to do that in the first place? I could not guess how many people saw that little display! Beating a pair of the city guard into insensibility only hurts _you_! You are giving arrows to those who would shoot you."  
  
"I am well aware of the ramifications, Whiteleaf!" he flared. "I do not need you to explain my situation to me." He immediately cursed himself for the outburst. He had been privileged in Ust Natha - his status had earned him the right to be frank. Here, he had none. He closed his eyes and waited for the rebuke.  
  
It never came. "You're right," Demin said quietly. "I am sorry."  
  
His eyes snapped open and he stared at her, the apology ringing strangely in his ears. His mind balked. Had she just-? 

She had.

But _why_?

Demin gazed at the floor, her expression disconsolate, oblivious to the stark confusion her words had sown. "They should not have questioned your devotion to your goddess. That was inexcusable." She sighed, and raised her eyes pensively. "But there are many here who would have the Queen toss you out of the city from the highest bough. How am I to stand between you and them, if you provide them with fuel for their fires?”  
  
He swallowed, and suddenly, he could not look at her. The saddened timbre of her voice was actually worse than her anger. How did she manage that? "I can't imagine that is a comfortable place to stand,” he said awkwardly. “Why would you?”  
  
"It is not my practice to ignore my god's pronouncements. Even if it is something as seemingly absurd as naming a drow among his allies. You have the Leaflord’s sanction to remain here as long as you choose. As his priestess, it is my duty to see that you are allowed to do that." A wry half-smile tugged at her mouth. "And perhaps I enjoy your particular sort of cheek more than I should."

He felt a similar expression warming his own features. "Even when it is directed at yourself?"

"I choose not to answer that," she replied dryly. She touched his neck, and a warm tingle spread through the muscle. He had been healed by divine magic many times in his life, but Rillifane's grace was so different from the cold, jealous touch of Lolth that he could scarcely imagine it being the same process at all. Demin left her hand in place as she continued. "I know it wounds your pride to swallow their insults, Solaufein. I cannot imagine how it must feel, to be a foreigner here, so quickly tried and judged by all. But please. Promise me I will not have to do this again."  
  
He nodded slowly. "You have my word, Whiteleaf."

She seemed to realize then that she was still touching him, and quickly withdrew her hand. “Excuse me. There is other business I must attend to this morning.”

He waited until she had gone, and then, rubbing his neck idly, he took a back way up to his room. Perhaps it would be best to stay indoors.

⁂⁂⁂

He had always learned best by observation, and in the days that followed, he was determined do as much of both as he could. The druid Jaheira had none too subtly reminded him that his options were to either adapt or perish, and after all he had endured thus far, lying down and dying seemed like a colossal waste of effort. He explored Suldanessellar, from the topmost branches, where Queen Ellesime's palace stood, down the delicately strung walkways and curving stairs, from the Temple of Rillifane to the mages' Collegium, past the shops and homes of the common citizens, through the trees to the forest floor. In a way, its layered nature reminded him of Ust Natha. Wouldn't that have given the Matrons a shock?

In the course of his explorations, he learned much. Despite Rillifane's status as the city's patron god, there were shrines to various other deities of the Seldarine throughout the city. Market days were mid-week, and the two best places to hear the city's gossip were at the broad pool at served at as the marketplace watering hole, and outside the temple in the evenings. There was always activity at the Collegium, regardless of the hour. The palace guard changed their watch every four hours. And there was an apprentice at a bakery three levels below the temple who had a bad habit of leaving sweet rolls out in easy reach of the late night explorer.

There were always a few coins left for him, though.

On the whole, it seemed Suldanessellar was poised to recover from its savage handling at the hands of Irenicus's allies with ease and dignity. But as Midsummer passed, there was a feeling in the air that became impossible to ignore, a feeling that he recognized. It spread outward from the gathering places and the commons, wherever news was shared and opinion formed. There was unrest to the south, and its cause and implications stretched out before and around it like a spider's legs. The deep gnomes had a word for that sensation - _vfilist_ \- the coldness of bad air from a deep shaft. He had never expected to feel it on the surface, but he supposed that dread was the same anywhere.

He was returning to the temple by a little used route that passed the Collegium one evening when he heard familiar voices speaking in Common. His interest piqued, he sidled through the shadows to a vantage point near enough to hear and half-see. Maera and Demin likely would have abused him for eavesdropping. _But information rarely hands itself to you_ , he thought. Besides, this would be a good time to practice his listening comprehension.

It was the redheaded mager and the little female – Maera’s paramour, and her sister. Imoen perched on the railing, standing on her hands. Kelsey watched her, his expression hovering somewhere between confusion and dismay. "Do you...have to do that?" he asked.

"Helps me think." 

"Uh...huh." He clearly didn't believe her. He puffed out a thoughtful breath. "I wish I could have found out more today. Normally, you'll never find a worse bunch of gossips than Tethyrian caravan drivers, but...nobody wanted to talk." He began to pace. "I hate this, Imoen. I hate it! Everyone's on edge, talking about these Bhaalspawn in Tethyr, but nobody knows any details, or at least that's what they say." He glanced at the little thief, still motionless in her handstand. "And you're having bad dreams."

"Mae's been talking, huh?"

"Did you really expect her to keep that to herself? Imoen...are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Red." The cheer in her voice was forced.

"If they're anything like the dreams Maera has, you're lying. Imoen," he repeated, "are you okay?"

Imoen sighed, and tilted her legs to gracefully arc herself back down to her feet. "Not really." She landed within a few inches of Kelsey, and launched herself into the startled sorcerer's arms. "You're a good guy, Kels. Don't let anyone tell you different."

He chuckled fondly and rested his chin on the top of her head for a moment before withdrawing. "Hey, what are friends for?"

"Alibis." She smiled, a far more genuine expression this time. "We should get going. You know how Mae gets when you keep her waiting."

Solaufein watched them depart, absorbed in thought. What an interesting relationship they had – you would certainly never see anything like it in the Underdark. But then, he’d seen precious few interactions on the surface that looked anything like their counterparts beneath. He was reasonably sure that didn’t bother him, but sometimes it might be nice to feel like he knew what the hell was going on.

More importantly, though, he had a name now for the _vfilist_. The source of the city's wracked nerves were other Children of Bhaal, like Maera. But they were not actually like her at all, if they were putting armies in the field and feeding on the fear of others like intellect devourers. Was Maera in danger, then? And by extension, was Suldanessellar?

That final question was the true issue. Suldanessellar’s recovery was proceeding apace, but there were gaps in the city’s defenses that only time could mend, and time might be in short supply. Gauging the nature and severity of the threat was the first move, and it was apparent that Maera’s companions were already thinking in those terms. Solaufein knew that Kelsey had been a merchant before becoming an adventurer. Likely, he knew several of the caravan masters he had spoken with, and had traded on shared experience in the course of his inquiries. But he was, as Maera put it, nice. Solaufein smiled thinly to himself. Where he came from, there was no word for _nice_.

He followed a long, steeply curved walkway that led down to the forest floor, the lowest level of the city, and was halfway there when he stopped. What was he doing? What was he _thinking_? Why take any action for this city's sake at all? He was fortunate in Maera's friendship, and the Queen's kindness, and the Whiteleaf's protection, but what did he care? Why give more than a duergar's damn about the place?

 _Because you don't know how NOT to give a damn_ , he answered himself, and sighed. "Your sense of duty will be the death of you, Solaufein," Phaere had told him. That was before the Handmaidens, and there had been worry in her voice, and warning. She had said it again, later, afterward, and she had laughed.

Despite its relative isolation, Suldanessellar saw no shortage of commerce, being the central trade location for the many, far smaller, communities of elves scattered throughout the Forest of Tethir. Solaufein understood that human merchants from the south regularly stopped there on their way into Amn, and there were several there now, camped out on the fringes of the market common. He prowled about the darkening campsite, searching for the most promising target. He may not have known many humans personally, but he knew _of_ them, and he recognized the heraldry of a banner hanging from one vividly striped tent. Calimshites. Most famous in the Underdark for frequently dealing in two commodities dear to the hearts of drow everywhere: slaves and drugs. It was as good a place to start as any.

He ducked into the tent, and for the first moments, was disappointed with the blandness of the materials he found. Ordinary ledgers, receipt forms, business letters...and a locked case, stashed beneath a covered table, which had a very familiar aroma. Black Lotus, eh? Just what he had been hoping to find. And in a heavy folio beside it, something even more damning. A stack of parchment, every one alike, all bearing a skull sigil and the same repeated message. “The time of the Children of Bhaal has come. There will be no sanctuary or haven before our coming.” He pursed his lips. What it lacked in subtlety, it made up for in threat.

Suddenly, the tent was almost unbearably bright, a light flaring from behind him. "I've heard about you," said a deep voice in passable Elvish. "You're the reformed drow. Your coin will spend here, my friend. No need to sneak about like a thief. Unless that is what you are."

Solaufein turned slowly, sizing up the lamp-bearing man before him. The merchant was taller than he, but that was no great surprise, and whipcord lean. That probably just meant he was fast. Solaufein carefully raised his hands in a pacifying manner. He had made a point of avoiding visible armament in Suldanessellar, but that did not mean he was helpless. Best to avoid a confrontation, however. He had always found information was better won without violence. "I am no thief. Nor am I a customer. I am interested only in information."

The merchant shrugged. "Then you _are_ a customer. Information has a price, the same as any other good."

"I do not think that you will wish to charge me, however. I believe you will answer my questions, and require nothing in return."

"Will I? And how do you reckon that?"

Solaufein tapped his foot against the case of Black Lotus meaningfully. "It is my understanding the Queen takes a dim view of such...recreation. We wouldn't want her to hear of this, would we?"

"That is intended for the Amnish trade," the merchant said, his narrow face darkening.

"How would you prove that?"

"Blackmail, then? You are not so reformed after all."

Solaufein shrugged carelessly, but his heart was singing. He had missed this sort of thing. "Why do you have these in your possession?" he asked, holding up one of the skull marked broadsides.

The merchant's eyes narrowed. "Supplemental income. I was offered a thousand gold in Daromar to leave them in our wake as we headed north. I have done so."

"Who is behind this message? Who wants it spread?"

"They were given to me by a woman. A human. A northerner, pale with dark hair. I did not ask her name." Solaufein tilted his head slightly, waiting, and the merchant sighed. "There are five of them, that much I know. No one seems to know their names or where they came from. They are seeking out others like them, and I doubt they intend for a family reunion over tea."

He knew little more than that, Solaufein judged, and to press further would likely only lead to trouble. He slowly folded the broadside, and tucked it into his tunic. “Thank you. I will take this, if you do not mind. And we will keep this,” he gave the Black Lotus box another scuff, “between ourselves.”

The merchant’s features grew cunning. “I do not suppose _you_ might be interested? I can make you a very reasonable offer.”

Solaufein nearly laughed in his face. _So you can drug me and dispose of me?_ “I think not. Black Lotus is for surfacers and children. If I wished to alter my mind, I would require something with a bit more…bite.” He pushed past the merchant, smiling coolly. “A good evening to you.”

He could not repress a grin as he ascended back into the trees, taking unnecessary paths and doubling back on himself several times, just to be cautious. He had not had that much fun in quite some time.

⁂⁂⁂ 

The sun seemed almost aggressively bright the next morning, and he was reaching for the headache tonic Jaheira had given him less than ten minutes after rising. He thought of talking himself out of the plan he had made the night before, but found he could not. _You can’t leave well enough alone, either_ , he thought to himself glumly as he splashed water on his face. One way or another, this would be an interesting experience.

There was a pair of guards outside Queen Ellesime’s chamber, a fussy-looking male and a rather young female. “I would like to speak with the Queen, if I may,” Solaufein said in the face of their stares.

The male recovered himself, and sniffed. “I doubt she has any business with you.”

Solaufein strove to keep his expression pleasant, grinding his teeth only mentally. “You will never know until you ask, will you?” He met the guard’s eyes with as bland a smile as he could manage. The male grumbled under his breath and knocked at the door. A soft voice responded, and he entered.

The female guard looked about nervously, then blurted, “If you don’t mind me saying, Faarien and Thelarias got what they deserved. And I’m not the only person who thinks so.”

Solaufein cocked an eyebrow at her. “Indeed?”

“They were trying to provoke a fight, and they got one. You can’t be blamed for that.”

“Can I not?”

“No.” She shrugged, obviously trying to appear more unconcerned than she actually was. “You’re a friend of Maera’s. And the Whiteleaf won’t hear anything against you in her presence. That’s good enough for me.”

 _She won’t, will she?_ “That is good to know, …?”

“Naren,” she supplied quickly.

“Thank you, Naren.” He shot her a warm smile. “That is very comforting knowledge.”

The other guard yanked open the door with a crabbed expression. “Her Majesty will see you.” He showed Solaufein into the royal presence, a sullen air hanging on him like a bad odor. “If you require _anything_ , Your Majesty-” he said, but Ellesime waved a hand.

“I am sure all shall quite well. Thank you. You may go.”

Solaufein had met her only briefly before, and what had struck him then, as now, was how strangely comfortable being in her presence was. Calm and peace shone from her as light did from the sun, but she did not inspire any headaches. Her voice was gentle, and she never sounded commanding. She suggested, and one wanted to follow those suggestions. Was it some sort of magic, he wondered; the product of her divine parentage? Or was it simply a gift of personality?

“This is an unexpected, but very pleasant surprise, Solaufein. May I ask why you have come?”

He bowed his head deeply. “I have acquired information I believe you will be interested in, Your Majesty.” He presented her with the broadside, and recounted his exchange with the Calimshite. Her lovely face clouded as he spoke.

“This only confirms Elhan’s information,” she murmured. She rubbed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, and it was such an ordinary gesture Solaufein almost gaped at her. If she noticed his surprise, she felt no need to comment on it. She tilted her head gracefully. “Why have you brought this to me?”

Why _had_ he? Was it because she was the ruler of the city? A female? Did old habits truly die that hard? He worked his mouth for a moment before answering, eyes firmly fixed on the carpet, “Apparently, I do not know how to live in a place and do nothing for its benefit.”

He did not look up, but he heard the smile in her voice. “That is a trait worth retaining. I thank you, Solaufein. It was very generous of you to share what you have learned, and I will not forget it." 

He sighed to himself as he left the palace. He just couldn’t stay out. He didn’t know how.

⁂⁂⁂

“If you go,” Solaufein said in Common, “who will I practice my Common with?”

They sat on the balcony where they had always had their language lessons, under another fine evening sky. Maera shrugged. “There’s always Demin. Her Common’s better than my Elvish, I’ll put it that way.” She raised an intent eyebrow at him. “Unless of course, you still don’t think she trusts you.”

Solaufein thought about that, thought about the anger in the Whiteleaf’s voice after the fight with the guards. She had not been angry _at_ him (at least not entirely). She had been angry on his behalf. And there was what the guard Naren had said, that Demin would not hear him insulted. She was taking a chance for him, because she believed it to be right. He found he did not want to let her down again. “No,” he said slowly, “I think she does.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re finally seeing sense,” Maera replied. “That’s good.” She sighed, and dropped her eyes. “It’s not a matter of _if_ we go,” she said quietly. “We have to leave. There’s no way around it.”

It pained him to see her in low spirits, and for a moment, he wanted to apologize, though for what exactly, he did not know. For finding the broadside? For adding to the store of information that said she could not stay? “I know.”

They sat in silence for a while longer, and finally, she stood. “I should go. There’s still more packing to do,” she said.

He stood as well, and extended his hand. “I will miss these evenings. And your company.”

“I’ll miss you too. I’ll miss…everything about this place.” She clasped his hand, chuckling sadly.

“If I do not see you again before you depart, be well, and safe.”

“I’ll do my best.” She smiled slightly, and bumped his shoulder gently with her fist. “Try to stay out of trouble. And keep practicing.”

⁂⁂⁂

The adventurers departed two days later, and that evening, as she walked through the temple, Demin knew where Solaufein would be – on the balcony where he and Maera had met to practice Common. He likely missed the young human. She had looked past his race with an almost belligerent disinterest. Demin had to admit to herself that it was frankly a bit shaming. She had tried her best to judge him on his merits. But Maera had made it look so easy.

Perhaps that was what drew her to the balcony. He was a mortal being making his way in the world the same as any other, and he deserved a friend. She worried at her lip as she approached the balcony door. He had given her his word, without a second’s hesitation, that he would avoid trouble, and since then, he had kept it. Didn’t she owe it to him to try and be more than some distant overseer?

He sat against the wall, squinting at the night sky thoughtfully. She had not taken him by surprise this time; he heard her footsteps, and scrambled to his feet, but she spoke before he could, addressing him in Common. “It is my understanding that you require a new partner with whom to continue the improvement of your Common.”

He glanced away, surprised. “I do.” He leaned on the railing, shooting her a small, diffident smile, adding in Elvish, “Are you volunteering, Whiteleaf?”

She stepped beside him, resting her elbows on the rail and folding her hands. “It would seem that I am,” she replied in kind.

“That is very kind of you.”

“It is no hardship.”

He looked away again, and asked, very quietly, “Why?" 

She watched his dark profile carefully as she responded. “Why not?”

“Because you are-”

“A high priestess, and you are a lowly exile, et cetera and so on?” She didn’t bother keeping the sarcasm from her voice. “Remove me from that pedestal, and look at me, Solaufein.” She gingerly poked his shoulder, and he stiffened with surprise, straightening to his full height. “See?” she said. “You are taller than me. I am the one who has to look up.”

He smiled again, the already familiar satirical edge firmly affixed. “So it would seem.” He turned back to the rail. “Very well, Whiteleaf,” he said in Common. “I accept.”

“Good!” They looked out over the city, illuminated by the lamps that bobbed from the branches in the night breeze. “It is a fine evening,” she said.

“It is. The moon will rise soon.”

“You seem to have quite a good grasp of tenses.”

“Thank you.”


	2. Accommodation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I have sustained no wound in my life deserving of your tears."_

Demin always looked forward to tea with Ellesime. It was a practice they had begun many long years before, a tradition meant to provide structure to their working relationship as queen and high priestess, while also propping up a central beam of their friendship. She hummed to herself as she approached the Queen’s chamber, passing through the tracks cut by the afternoon sun, but the song dwindled away as the door opened, and closed behind the last person she would have expected to see departing Ellesime’s presence.

“Whiteleaf.” Solaufein inclined his head. He had tied back his shoulder-length hair, she noticed, and it suited him. But his face was flushed, and he looked uncomfortable.

“If I did not know better, Solaufein, I would say you look peaked. Is something the matter?”

He exhaled crossly. “It is very warm today,” he grumbled. “I am told eventually the temperature will return to something approaching reason, but for now, this is ridiculous.”

She was not going to laugh at him. She wasn’t. She swore it to herself. But she felt herself begin to smile and realized it was a battle she could not possibly win. Her only hope was to try and minimize the casualties. “Well, yes. Autumn will be upon us soon enough, and then winter. And then you will likely wish for summer again. Of course, you may find that you like snow.”

He tugged at his collar and raised an irritated eyebrow. “Madness. Is it too much to ask for a little temperance?”

“In this part of the world, I’m afraid it is,” she said. He sighed gloomily, and she let herself smile at that, but only because it was in sympathy. “It does seem unfair that you are the one who must do all the accommodating; that the world will not bend even a little for you.”

He blinked, taken somewhat aback. She had discovered that she rather enjoyed getting that reaction from him. He was generally so poised and cool; it was amusing to put him off balance. A small part of her lectured that such a mindset was not terribly kind. Her inner trickster countered that it was fun, and that was what really mattered.

But how sad, that empathy should surprise him so.

“I…adapt as best I can, Whiteleaf,” he said finally. “It is my only option.”

“Even so.” She nodded towards the Queen’s door. “If you will excuse me?”

“Of course.” He bowed his head once more, and departed down the hall.

Ellesime peered hard at the door as Demin entered. “Is he gone?”

Demin felt as if she had walked into the middle of a play and missed something important from the first act. “Do you mean Solaufein?”

“Yes. And was Naren out there?”

That did not help in the slightest. “Naren…she is one of the guard, correct? Tallish, red hair?” Ellesime nodded quickly. “No, she wasn’t. And Solaufein is gone. I just spoke to him in the hall.”

The Queen sighed. “Ah, well.”

Yes, the first act had been very important, and there were no notes in the program. “Ellesime…what _are_ you on about?”

Ellesime began to pour the tea. “Oh, just a little entertainment. Solaufein’s cut something of a swath with some of the younger ones in the past few weeks, and I think Naren has a bit of a crush.” Demin looked at her blankly. _Not so funny from this angle, is it?_ crowed the stern inner voice to the trickster. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed,” the Queen said, noting her bewilderment. “I’m sure there are at least a few acolytes giggling over him.”

“Are we referring to the same Solaufein? The one who was just here?”

“Youth likes danger, and one would be hard pressed to find more danger than with a drow.”

Demin accepted her cup of tea, and found herself longing for something stronger.

“The chief amusement of it is that I don’t believe he has the faintest idea,” Ellesime continued. “It’s rather endearing, in a way.”

“You have developed an odd sense of fun, Ellesime,” Demin said sternly, then smiled into her tea. “But I am glad that it is there. I had worried for you.”

“I have let myself feel the magnitude of my stupidity, and accepted it,” Ellesime said softly. “Nothing can be undone.” She set down her cup and absently straightened the scattered parchments on the tea table. Demin indicated them with a movement of her head.

“News?”

“Intelligence,” Ellesime replied. “That is why Solaufein was here, actually. He has an excellent eye for this sort of thing, I’ve discovered. And since he seems to appreciate the mental exercise, I am more than happy to accept his evaluations.”

“Doesn’t Elhan take that personally?”

Ellesime straightened, her features shifting subtly from friendly gossip to royal authority. “The General should be pleased that such talents are being put to use for the good of the city.”

Demin bit her lip to prevent a smirk. In other words, Elhan had already protested and been told he would accept it. It would seem at least one thing in world was being forced to accommodate Solaufein after all.

“And of course, there is all of this,” Ellesime continued, pointing to another stack of paper. “Petitions and business for court next week. Oh, Demin, I dread it, and yet I am so eager to return to it.”

Demin dreaded court herself, but only because she knew that it would be a very long day. There had been no official court in three months, not since before Irenicus’s invasion. Between the extraordinary damage done to the throne room, and the pressing business of reconstruction in the city, the practice had been suspended, but now the recovery had reached the point that Ellesime felt it proper to resume. Demin understood why her friend was excited to take a return to the duty, but as Whiteleaf, she was also expected to be present, and after three months, there would be much to talk about. It would be a very, very long day.

“Anything I should be aware of?” she asked.

“Nothing unusual. It’s more a matter of volume.” Ellesime returned to her tea. “So were you and Silverbark Tafaelen able to straighten out that issue with young Amaris?”

⁂⁂⁂

According to those in the know, it had been summer the entire time Solaufein had been on the surface, but in the last tenday or so, the weather had changed from a little warmer than was ideal to unbearable. In the Underdark, there was no weather, the temperature could be counted on as a constant, and its regulation was no great trial. But here, as the Whiteleaf had told him, it wouldn’t last. The seasons would shift, and it would go from miserably hot to no doubt miserable chill. How did surfacers live like this?

He was up early because he had not really slept the night before. He could not get comfortable enough to relax, so he paced about the silent temple in the predawn hours, feeling thoroughly disgruntled. He passed the entrance to the sanctum, and paused to look in. The first light of the sunrise poured through the latticework of branches that made the eastern wall, a pale pink-gold that stained the altar like a dab from an artist’s brush.

He was so captivated by the play of light it took him a moment to notice there was someone standing before the altar. A female figure, in a plain muslin dress, her feet bare, her hair loosely pinned up off her neck, stood with her eyes closed and hands open at her sides. It was Demin, and for the briefest of instants, he hated her. She looked so _right_ , there before her god’s altar; she belonged there. The temple was hers and she was the temple’s, as inextricably a part of it as the trees themselves. Since he had broken with Lolth, there was no place he could be so completely at one with. He had thought himself reconciled to that. Now he wasn’t so sure.

Her head turned, and her now-opened eyes widened. She quickly covered her surprise and said, “I did not imagine you an early riser.”

“I could not sleep,” he responded quietly. It felt wrong to speak in a normal tone; this was an hour still too young for ordinary voices.

“You sleep? Then you do not-” She tilted her head curiously. “I did not know that drow do not have reverie.”

He was suddenly embarrassed and did not know why. “Some do, but…it is not common. I never have.” The question asked itself before his tired mind could censor it. “What is it like?”

Her brow furrowed slightly. “It is difficult to describe.” She shrugged. “It is rest. One is calm, and…distant, I suppose. The mind is aware, but the body is simply…unimportant, for a time. I will admit, I find the idea of voluntary unconsciousness somewhat unnerving.”

The corner of his mouth lifted a little. “When you describe it like that, it rather is.” He ducked his head. “I will leave you. I am sure that-”

“I was finished,” she said. “It is dawn, isn’t it?” He nodded. “I keep vigil, on the night of the new moon,” she explained. “But night is over now.” She walked towards him, stopping to gather up her shoes.

“I did not know the new moon was sacred to Rillifane,” he said.

“It is not,” she said. “My reasons are somewhat more personal.”

He felt himself flush. “Then I apologize.”

“Solaufein.” There was mild, amused reproof in her voice. “Personal does not always mean private. It is simply an old custom of mine. You are hardly the first to have seen me at it, and you will not be the last.” She began to walk towards the door, asking over her shoulder, “Will I see you this evening?”

For a second, the smile in her eyes irritated him, but he chose, with charitable fatigue, to let her have that. If she wanted a laugh, he would give her one. “As always, I will await you with terrified anticipation, Whiteleaf,” he said, sketching a half bow.

She did not disappoint. “It’s just Common,” she laughed. “I’m not asking you to slay a dragon.”

He shrugged as he watched her go. Dragon slaying, language lessons…if it involved the Whiteleaf, there was always an element of danger.

⁂⁂⁂

Latiel always knocked, even if Demin had the door open. “Whiteleaf,” she said, “General Elhan is here to see you.”

As her eyes were beginning to cross trying to read the letter in front of her, Demin looked up with relief. Vigil nights made for long days. “What is the occasion, Elhan?” she asked as he closed the door behind him.

Elhan wandered about her office, examining the shelves as if he had never seen them before. “I have a young captain in the guard who wishes to further himself in the healing arts. I thought I would speak to you on his behalf.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Normally you just send me a note when your rangers seek study. Since when do you walk them here personally like a child to school?"

“The lad’s got quite an aptitude,” the General floundered, “and…” He sighed. “It was a flimsy excuse, wasn’t it?”

“There are houses built of playing cards with greater structure.” She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “You need no pretense to call on me, Elhan. You know that.”

Elhan paced towards the balcony door. “You have a wonderful view from here.”

“And as you have been here countless times, you would know that almost as well as I. Out with it, Elhan. I kept vigil last night, and I am testy.”

He turned, his face set in unhappy determination. “What, exactly, is going on between you and the drow?”

She laughed only out of shock, an automatic reaction as uncontrollable as tensing before an impact. “By the Oak, Elhan, what sort of question is that?”

“One you should be prepared to answer. The time you spend with him has not gone unnoticed.”

“And should I care that it has not? I have nothing to hide. I spend time with him because he deserves to have someone in this city he can call friend.”

“And do you call him friend?”

Elhan’s tone reminded her of an elder brother, well meaning but superior, and she found the question more annoying than she could reasonably justify. “I do. And that is no one’s business but my own.”

“You are the Whiteleaf, Demin,” Elhan said softly, dropping into the chair opposite her with an earnest expression. “Unfortunately, many things in your life _are_ the business of others. That is why I asked. _I_ know you are not easily carried off with fancies, but I also have the fortune, good or ill, of knowing you better than most. The opinion of many is still set against him, and I had to be sure.”

She pulled her mouth into a small scowl. “Carried off with fancies?” She was suddenly reminded of her conversation with Ellesime, and leveled a stare of dark amusement at the General. “Are you worried I am infatuated with him, like some of your young soldiers? Because he is dark and dangerous?" Her eyebrows lifted sarcastically. "Or that I admire his abilities, like Ellesime, and you feel on point of being replaced, even though you know you should not? You were looking for an ally.” She clucked her tongue. “Elhan. Such pettiness is beneath you."

Her old friend huffed grouchily. “What happened to him being an irritant?”

“Oh, he is, make no mistake. He has a wit that can cut, and he cannot help but use it.”

“Which entertains you.” Elhan shook his head. “You are very strange, Demin.”

She could not deny that, and spread her hands in accession. “You say that as if you did not already know it.”

“It isn’t that I begrudge him the right to be here…”

“But?”

“But you have caught me out, as usual, and if there is one thing I know, it is when retreat is my best option.” He shrugged as he stood. “You know me, Demin. The only change I really like is the sort I have charge of.” He gave her the small smile of one accepting his defeat as graciously as he knew how. “But I know you as well, and I know you are a natural contrarian. Do think of appearances occasionally _._ ”

“I shall give it my best effort.” She smiled. “Carry my best to Ehlya.”

“I will. She was wondering when you would dine with us again.”

Demin waved a hand negligently. “Tell her I am at her disposal. She is the cook, after all.”

Elhan chuckled as he departed, and Demin tried to turn her attention back to her work. But the words began to blur together again, and she realized she would likely have to slip off and trance for an hour or so if she had any hope of making it to her evening appointment. _Terrified anticipation, indeed_ , she thought.

⁂⁂⁂

She was almost late getting back to the temple, because it wasn’t until after supper that she was able to take her catnap. (She liked that term – no one could convince her that cats did not also have reverie.) As usual, Solaufein heard her approach and turned to face her. She had to give him credit; after the one instance at the consecration, she had not been able to sneak up on him. “Whiteleaf,” he said in Common, “good evening.” He always looked so much more comfortable at night, she reflected. While she appreciated his willingness to keep daylight hours in yet another of his many accommodations, she knew the dark and cool of night were more to his liking, and that the night sky inspired nothing near the unease of its sunlit counterpart. As always, the simple fact that he was trying counted for much.

She bent her head in greeting. “Did you succeed in getting any rest?”

“I did. I sleeped a while this afternoon.”

“Slept.”

His shoulders slumped. “And I was doing so well,” he muttered in Elvish.

“One misconjugated verb is hardly cause for reproach,” she encouraged. “I would never know you only began studying in earnest a few months ago. Your command of grammar is really excellent.”

The praise seemed almost to embarrass him, but it seemed unfair to laugh at him for that, so she kept her face straight. He turned his gaze back towards the night sky, and returned to Common. “The stars are very bright.”

“When there is no moon, they have no competition.”

He appeared to think about that, then said softly in Elvish, “In the Underdark, I always thought they sounded ludicrous. Dots of light in the black. I couldn’t see how that was worth getting excited over. No description I ever heard prepared me for what they truly are.”

“Had you never been to the surface before you came here?”

“Once, when I was young, to be blooded. Never again after that.” He continued to stare up at the sky. “My duties always kept me…closer to home.”

She pondered that for a moment. “Then it was quite a leap to make.”

He shrugged. “I had to. I could not stay. Even if Maera had not come to Ust Natha, I…did not belong there anymore.”

Now was as good a time as any to ask the question she had wanted to ask for months. “If I may ask something personal…” she began.

Solaufein glanced at her. “You want to know how I came to the worship of Lady Silverhair.”

Her mouth hung open for a moment, and then she saw the amusement in his garnet eyes. He enjoyed confounding her as much as she did him! _Oh, now you_ _’ve done it_ , she thought at him, but this was not the time for a battle of wits. She would have plenty of time to needle him later; for now, she was far too interested in having her question answered. She nodded. “I do.”

He shrugged again, and looked away. “I lost someone.”

 _You too?_ She gave a small, surprised chuckle, and this time, his glance was sharp. “I’m not laughing at you,” she said hastily. “That is simply…a very familiar reason.” She leaned on the balcony rail, playing idly with the ivy that curled around it.

“What was his name?”

“What makes you think it was a he?” she challenged.

“An assumption. Forgive me if I am wrong.”

“You are not. I was being difficult.” He smiled faintly, but there was a shrewdness in the expression that made her feel strangely self-conscious. “His name was Lithelen Lissel. He was a ranger from Evereska.” She shot Solaufein a measuring glance. “You see, you are not the only one who lived another life before this one. I entered the priesthood very young, but I never felt I had any vocation for the temple. I was all afire to see the world, to do Rillifane’s name proud beyond our woods. So I left, went east into Cormyr, where I joined the company of Janus Taleren. He was a paladin of Tyr, and a good man. A righteous man. I learned much from him. It was in his party that I met Lithelen.” She smiled ever so slightly to herself, stirring the old memories like embers, letting them warm her. “We started friends. And then it got better.

“In time, Janus chose to retire, and Lithelen and I decided to form our own company and continue on together. We did, and we were quite successful for many seasons.” She flexed her fingers restlessly, her mind’s eye miles and a lifetime away. In the Dalelands, in Cormanthor, in Sembia and Turmish. “I loved the Life, and I loved him. I could not imagine wanting or receiving anything more than what I had.” She closed her eyes. Now she could see the gates of Tilverton, so close, and still as distant as the farthest plane. She could see the arrows in Lithelen’s back, feel the sting of the icy bolt in her side, smell the blood. It had been so long ago, but the memories returned so easily. “Our party was ambushed. I was the only survivor. In one night, I lost everything, and it…broke me.”

“You?” His voice was soft, marked with a very gentle disbelief.

She chuckled half-heartedly. “I am not made of iron, Solaufein. And I was much younger then.”

“So you returned home, and devoted yourself entirely to the Leaflord.”

“Not at first. I came home, yes, but I was not sure I still even wanted to be a priest. I was…shattered. I felt as if every part of me that mattered was utterly gone. I could not fathom what I had left that was worth living for. Finally, in desperation, I went to the temple one night, determined that I would not leave until Rillifane had spoken to me, and that whatever he told me would be my direction.”

“What did he say?”

She stared unseeing into the night. She remembered the words exactly as she had heard them so long ago. She would always remember them, with perfect recall, until the day she died. “Branches break, and the tree will mourn their loss. But there will be new growth. Endure the storm for the sake of the dawn.”

“It was the night of a new moon,” he murmured. She nodded.

“We must turn to the divine in such times. There is no mortal magic that can mend a broken heart.”

He turned his head away in thoughtful silence. “A broken heart,” he said softly. “I think my heart was broken, though I have never thought of it in those terms. That is…not a phrase one hears in the Underdark.” He was quiet again, his eyes distant in a familiar way, and Demin wondered where his memories took him.

Finally, he spoke. “I never meant to fall in love with Phaere. At first, it was just another coupling. It didn’t mean anything. It was…convenient, and pleasurable. But then…” He glanced down at his hands. “Then I realized how much I anticipated seeing her, how much I enjoyed her conversation, how much our time together _mattered_ to me. But I said nothing. I was sure she could not possibly feel the same way. All my life, I’d learned that love was weakness, and I did not want to appear weak before her. Then suddenly one day, she looked at me and said, ‘I think that I love you. Isn’t that strange?’”

Demin laughed softly. “Direct. I can appreciate that.”

“I imagine you would.” He chuckled as well. “You probably would have-” His smile faded and his face grew very still. “But she was her mother’s favorite, and the Matron had greater plans for her than me. She went to them so calmly; I don’t think Ardulace told her why she was being summoned to the temple. I certainly didn’t know. She was just gone, and if I asked, no one would look me in the eye.” He folded his arms across his chest, shoulders hunched as if he were cold. “Then one night, she reappeared. She came to my quarters and told me she desired me. I was so grateful to see her again, to hear her say that…I did not want to know where she had been or what had happened. So I did not ask. Midway through, she asked if I was finished, pushed me away, and left, laughing.”

Demin covered her mouth with her hand in horror. “My gods.”

His voice continued, soft and uninflected. “I only found out what happened to her because one of Ardulace’s house slaves took pity on me. She had been taken by the Handmaidens to learn the error of such soft emotions as love. In the end, the only part of her they hadn’t ripped out was her ambition.” His eyes dropped, and in them, she could see the emptiness of loss, a wound closed but scarred. “I wonder if she thought she could beat them. If she tried to. And if she did, how long she held out before she could not any longer.”

Demin felt as if a hand were closing on her heart, as if it were pressing against her chest, catching her breath. She stared at him, stricken, tears welling in her eyes. “Oh, Solaufein,” she breathed, leaning towards him. “I am so sorry.”

He looked at her once more, his expression of a mix of incredulity and unease. “You are crying again.”

“How can I not? That is terrible.” He moved his shoulders vaguely, and she realized that her tears were probably more embarrassing than any humiliation a Handmaiden could heap on him. She wiped her eyes quickly, and took a half step away. He seemed to appreciate the space.

“After that,” he continued, carefully keeping his eyes from hers, “I could no longer countenance giving even the slightest part of myself to Lolth. Not after what her priestesses did in her name. I had heard of Eilistraee, in whispers. So I sought her out. It was not an easy thing…but it was necessary.” He looked towards the sky, and gave an uncomfortable little laugh. “It grows late. So much for practicing Common.”

She could take the hint, but felt compelled to tell him, “Soluafein, I apologize if my reaction upset you.”

He still was not looking at her. “I thank you, Whiteleaf, but I have sustained no wound in my life deserving of your tears.”

Her mouth tightened, and without thinking, she stepped close to him, hands on her hips, tilting her head to meet his eyes whether he liked it or not. “If not mine, then whose?” she demanded.

He was silent for a moment, looking back at her. She knew there was something going on behind his eyes, but he had closed that door, and she did not know whether that made her angry or not. At length, his brow softened, and he said quietly, “You are right.” To her astonishment, he took one of her hands in his, and bowed his head over it. “I wish to amend my promise to you, as the original appears to be insufficient. You have my word I will do all in my power to see that you have no cause to weep for me again.” He raised his head, and the faintest edge of a smile turned his mouth. “I am not sure I could bear it. Good night, Whiteleaf.” He clasped her hand for an instant, then turned and vanished through the doorway.

He was a puzzle, she thought as she made her way home, one that she had no hope of solving. But that all right. She was long accustomed to mysteries with no easy solution. It was a matter of faith, to accept those things that defied explanation. She thought about his story, of love ripped away with such cruelty and calculation. It was a wonder that such an experience had not driven him mad. She supposed it was a testament to his own character that it had not. “Endure the storm,” she murmured, glancing back over her shoulder towards the temple, and towards the small room where he lodged, “for the sake of the dawn.”

⁂⁂⁂

The throne room had changed in small, subtle ways. The light would never fall in quite the same way as it had before; so many of the old branches had been culled, sacrificed for the greater health of the Tree. New boughs already began to weave together, but it was a new pattern of light and shadow that fell across the floor. Demin had known her vantage point to the left of the throne for years, and it struck her just as large a change a conglomeration of little things could make.

Some things did not change. She was bored senseless, and had been for hours. But the fact that court was still tedious was not necessarily a comfort. She was not a political creature, despite her position. It was not that she did not believe in compromise and letting everyone have their say. She simply felt that she was usually the only sensible person in the room.

Ellesime, on the other hand, had been quite literally born for governance, and she sat on her throne with her usual serenity, hearing each petition and matter brought to her with even patience. She could fix those green-gold eyes on someone, and give them her utter, undivided attention, making them feel as if their concerns were the most pressing and important in the world. Everything brought to her carried equal weight, and she would hear out the most minor personage with the same concern she would give to the mightiest.

At the moment, she was listening to the complaint of the head of the Woodworkers’ Guild, a tall male almost as broad as human, who felt it a veiled insult that the Weavers’ Guild had gotten their guildhall rebuilt first. When he had finished, she said calmly, “Master Kilel, you will recall that the Weavers took it upon themselves to clear the site of their guildhall in preparation for its rebuilding. Therefore, I can find little reason to see the issue as little more than one of greater preparation. As always, I thank you for your punctilious attention to these matters of form.” The guildmaster accepted his gentle dismissal with a weak grumble and stepped back. The Queen scanned the assemblage. “Is there any other business?”

“Your Majesty, we have not spoken on the matter of censure.” Master Favelien, dean of the Collegium, spoke from his place almost directly opposite Demin.

Ellesime tilted her head a fraction of a degree. Favelien had already delivered his report on the status of the Collegium, and it was rare for him to speak unprompted on other matters. “Whom are we censuring, and why?”

“That is the question, Your Majesty. We have stood here and spoken of our efforts to rebuild for hours, and yet spared no words for the reason we have been forced to rebuild at all! Shall there be no accountability for what has occurred? Will there be no blame?”

Elhan, who had stood in disinterested silence to the right of the throne of the entirety of the meeting, crossed his arms. “Have we not suffered enough already, Favelien? Was the Exile’s vengeance not punishment enough? I see none of the citizenry rioting and baying for a scapegoat. Why should we make one?”

The mage narrowed his eyes. “The Exile did not visit that vengeance solely upon those responsible for his banishment. Are we to do as he did and paint all of Suldanessellar with one brush, and say that there are no innocent? That the city, as an entity, is responsible? That no individuals had greater or lesser parts to play in the blunder that led to his return? Because _that_ seems to be what you are saying.”

“It is the Queen’s right to make that determination, Favelien, not yours!”

“Gentlemen!” Ellesime's lips were compressed tightly. “Master Favelien, I alone chose to spare the Exile's life; his return and the violence that followed rest upon _my_ shoulders. If you feel a greater or more public penance on my part is appropriate, I will be guided by you. But recrimination avails us nothing. I will not allow this city to soak in anger as a drunkard does in wine.”

Favelien bowed his head, but his mouth remained hard. “It is noble of you to stand solely in blame, Your Majesty. I do not believe anyone would accuse your own contrition of being insincere or insufficient,” he said. “There were, however, others who could have prevented this, and I believe that you know that.” As he raised his head, he looked directly at Demin, and the venom in his eyes shot into her heart like the bite of a serpent. “There were other voices then, after all.” A murmur passed through the throne room, and Demin felt her shoulders tighten. She should have known this would come, that sooner or later, someone would say it.

“I take your meaning,” Ellesime said, her voice soft and her eyes almost unnaturally bright, “but I would have you speak plainly, Master Favelien. You refer to someone specific. Name them, or keep your peace.”

Favelien continued to gaze at Demin, and she refused to look away, but her heart pounded in spite of itself. She knew what he would say, and she knew she had no defense against his words. “I speak of Demin the Whiteleaf, Your Majesty,” he said, filling the expectant silence. Whispers broke like a cloudburst among those gathered, transfixed by the unexpected drama. She took a breath and opened her mouth, hoping that eloquence would come to her in the moment, but Ellesime raised her hand.

“The Whiteleaf put her support to my misguided intentions. That did not display great wisdom on her part, but again, the decision was ultimately mine, as is the responsibility for it. That is all I will hear on this matter. You are all dismissed.”

A collective sigh moved through the throne room as the gathered courtiers and citizens began to exit, the tension flowing out the doors with them. Demin remained seated, and she could feel eyes on her, hear the murmuring voices. Regardless of what Ellesime said, Favelien had flung open the gate, and only a fool would think it easily closed. “Demin.” She looked up, and saw Elhan standing before her, hand extended. “Don’t take it to heart. It’s just talk; the sooner the grievance is aired, the sooner it’ll die out.”

 _Do you really believe that, Elhan?_ She stood, and placed her hand on his offered arm. “Of course,” she murmured, and let him lead the way.

⁂⁂⁂

The heat had broken, and Solaufein laid on the narrow bed in his small, rafter-roofed room, staring up at the leaves that danced in the breeze from the open window, lost in thought. The Whiteleaf had sent her apologies; she had to forego their Common lesson due to the meeting of court. That was just as well, he supposed. Every time he had thought of her since their last conversation, he had remembered her eyes, widened with horror and bright with tears, and the memory set some part of his innards to twisting uncomfortably. Why should she, of all people, feel hurt on his behalf? It was embarrassing. It was baffling. It was unnecessary.

It was touching.

He sighed, and watched the leaves move. They swayed gracefully, and his eyes grew heavy trying to follow them. His body felt light in that strange way that only occurred on the very edge of sleep, and he found himself thinking of Demin’s description of reverie. Wasn’t that like this dreamy sensation he felt now, this sense of looseness and distance? Were all the times in his life he had felt like this just the beginning of something he had never known how to complete?

Couldn’t that be said of many things?

He did not sleep that night, but he did find rest.


	3. The Best of Intentions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"You should not have to justify yourself to me, or to anyone.”_

Solaufein did not pay the sky outside much attention as he dressed. He was simply grateful for the cloud cover, so he did not actually look outside until he had made it all the way to the main floor of the temple, and passed one of the huge arched windows. He was not prepared for what he saw.

“What the hells is that?”

The only thing that could have surprised him more than accidentally asking the question aloud would have been to receive an answer. Which he did.

“It’s fog.”

The speaker was a young male, probably barely out of his first century, lanky and tall enough to surprise even a human. “Low-lying cloud,” he explained. “It happens when the air is humid and cool. You see a lot of it in the morning this time of year.” He beamed genially and thrust out his hand. “Sorry. I was just passing and couldn’t help myself. I’m Kirlin.”

Solaufein looked carefully at the hand, then up at the face, cataloging what he saw there. Earnest, friendly, guileless... what was the word Maera had used to describe her sister? Obnoxious? No. (Though it was a good word nonetheless.) _Chipper_. That was it. In the leather and mail of a ranger, and the embroidered surcote of a guard officer, young Kirlin exuded _chipper_ as a perfumery did fragrance. Solaufein gingerly accepted the proffered handshake, which was unsurprisingly firm.

"It's good to finally meet you," Kirlin enthused.

"Is it?"

“Well, you are...sort of...famous.”

“Am I?”

“Of course!” The ranger looked astonished that Solaufein wouldn’t know that. “I was on my way to the practice rings. If you didn’t have any pressing plans this morning, you could come along. I know there are some others who would like the chance to meet you.”

Solaufein weighed the offer. Truth be told, he didn’t have any plans that morning, and Kirlin’s honest expression was such that if his intentions _were_ false, he was such a good actor Solaufein would consider it an honor to be gulled by him. While the young officer’s eagerness was a bit discomfiting, it certainly could not hurt to add to the number of friendly faces he knew. “Lead the way,” he said.

He followed Kirlin down several levels to the main guard barracks in relative quiet, but then the younger male said suddenly, “May I ask a question?”

“I doubt I could keep you from it.”

_I had my first kill when I was eleven years old. No, we do not eat spiders. Or any humanoid. Yes, I still get headaches from the sunlight. There actually is a word in Drow for love. Don’t ask me about erotic arts; I have no idea what your females enjoy. Or your males, or anyone else. Honestly, I have no idea what you people want._

“What is the Whiteleaf like?”

Solaufein blinked. He had not been expecting that. “She is your priestess. How would I be better placed to answer that than yourself?”

“I’m just studying in my spare time to improve my healing; I don’t really have many opportunities to get to know someone important like her.” Kirlin went slightly starry-eyed, and Solaufein forced himself not to snicker. “But I understood that you know her fairly well, so…I thought I’d ask.”

Solaufein pursed his lips. In actuality, he had hardly seen Demin in the past two weeks, and every time he had, she had seemed distracted and distant, begging off Common lessons and cutting short attempts at conversation in any language. He had not felt it his business to pry, but it had just reached the point he was beginning to feel irritated with her for it, and Kirlin’s question nudged the sore spot. “She and I are acquainted, yes, but I am not sure we are genuinely close enough for me to answer that question.”

“Oh.” Kirlin seemed disappointed. “Oh, well. It couldn’t hurt to ask.” His posture slumped a degree, and Solaufein was surprised to find himself speaking.

“She is strong-minded, but fair. She was willing to put aside her distrust of me, and accept my good intentions.” He remembered her leaning against the scorched throne room wall, disheveled and exhausted, tears of relief coursing down her face, and how she had looked at him when she saw him before her. There had been no shame or pride in her expression, and he had realized that she was the first person he had ever met who never wore a mask. “She feels right and wrong very deeply. No philosophical exercises for her, she… It seems a foolish thing to say about a priest, but she _believes_. More than any other person I have ever met.”

The stars were back in Kirlin’s eyes, and Solaufein wondered momentarily if he had said too much, but the ranger simply nodded. “I suppose I’ve always thought that’s the sort of person she is. It’s good to hear someone say it.” He glanced away. “Someone with no agenda,” he added in a mutter.

His word choice caught Solaufein’s ear. “Why do you say that?”

Kirlin shrugged. “Politics. It’s all over my head.” They were drawing near to the practice rings, and he spied a figure in the thinning fog. He waved. “Naren! You’re early!”

The young female bobbed her shoulders before saluting him. “I was already here, so…” She caught sight of Solaufein and her eyes widened slightly. “He’s not going to be sparring too, is he?”

“Only if he wants to,” Kirlin said with a laugh. Solaufein decided to feel flattered by the nervousness in Naren’s face.

Over the next ten minutes, their numbers grew as a half dozen other young soldiers descended on the practice ring. Kirlin and Solaufein leaned against the enclosing fence, watching the others loosen up and chat, and Solaufein felt a sudden sense of easy nostalgia, recalling practice days in the Male Fighters’ Society. He was struck by the universality of it. “Still missing Thelarias,” Kirlin muttered. “Of course. I am going to have to speak to his sergeant about his punctuality.”

The name was familiar, and Solaufein wondered where he had heard it before. Someone jogged towards them, saluting even as he came to a stop. “Sorry, Captain, I-” The soldier’s eyes narrowed at the sight of Solaufein. “What is _he_ doing here?” he hissed.

Kirlin drew himself up to his full, impressive height. “Solaufein is here at my invitation this morning, and that is all you need to know. You’ve already held us up with your tardiness, so get in there.”

Thelarias saluted again, glowering. “What’s the matter?” Naren mocked. “Upset he doesn’t recognize you with all your teeth?” _Oh_ _…_ _**that** Thelarias_ , thought Solaufein. A snicker rose from the assembly.

“All right!” Kirlin raised his voice. “Time to get to work! First form!”

The familiarity was almost overwhelming. The setting and players were different, but the action itself could have been any of a thousand days he had lived before. There was something comforting about that. Kirlin stalked the ring as his charges sparred, and there was something changed in his demeanor. Solaufein began to see why he outranked his contemporaries. He paused to correct bad footing, poor holds, and questionable maneuvers, and Solaufein reflected that this was not an unpleasant way to spend a morning. Ahead of him, a male swore as he was disarmed for the third time by his partner. “How do you keep doing that?” he demanded of her.

“You’re relying too much on your reach,” Solaufein said, without thinking. The pair stared at him as one. _Well, you_ _’_ _re committed now_ , he thought, and plowed on. “Your reach is longer than hers, so you relying on it as your edge. But all she has to do get inside, and you’re done. Defend more closely, and pay attention.” The soldier opened his mouth, then nodded and picked up his sword.

That little glow of satisfaction was familiar, too.

They soon broke for a few minutes, and Solaufein could hear snatches of conversation from the small huddles. He sifted through the information: someone’s sergeant was being unreasonable, someone’s sister was expecting a child, someone’s head still ached from night before. A pair of voices raised, and these fragments were swiftly drowned out. “All he wanted was for the Queen to censure her, Naren! That’s it!”

“Don’t be so naïve,” Naren retorted. “If he gets that, do you honestly think he’ll stop there?”

Her partner shrugged. “Maybe he shouldn’t. If she had done something then, the invasion never would have happened. You were here when the illusion closed the city, you know how bad it was.”

“Yes, I was, and yes, I do,” she said, her voice brittle. “And if someone who saw the things I did still doesn’t think the Whiteleaf deserves this, that should mean something! It was a long time ago; does that somehow negate everything good she’s done since then?”

“Justice wasn’t done when it should have been!”

“Whose definition of justice are you using?”

Kirlin waded in. “That is enough! We are not here for politics this morning; we are here to train! Naren, you and Thelarias switch partners.” He looked between Naren and her now ex-partner disapprovingly. “I think you two have had enough of each other for today.”

Solaufein watched the altercation with a cold knot in his stomach. When Kirlin approached the rail once more, he asked softly, “Dare I ask what precipitated that?”

The captain looked at him with sidelong confusion. “I would have thought that you had heard.”

“About?” Tension was gathering at his shoulders, and he wasn’t completely sure why.

“It’s just a lot of talk. It’s stupid, really, but…” Kirlin sighed. “At the last meeting of court, it was said that if anyone is to be held responsible for the Exile’s return, it is Whiteleaf Demin. The Queen wouldn’t hear of it, of course, but…people talk.”

“Indeed they do.” The glow was snuffed out, replaced a slow tightening of the abdominal knot. He paid little attention to the sparring soldiers for the remainder of their exercises, his thoughts lost on darkened paths.

⁂⁂⁂

From her kitchen, it took Demin a moment to hear the knock at her door, and a moment more to reach it. "My apologies," she said, reaching for the handle, "I was-" She stared at the figure the open door revealed. "Solaufein?" He stood under the small portico that shaded her front door, rocking slightly on the balls of his feet, his mouth set in a thin line. She watched him cautiously, his obvious agitation making her uneasy. "Would you like to come in?"

He nodded, and stepped past her, through the stair hall into the sitting room. "Your home is in much better repair than when last I saw it," he said in a low, distracted tone. "I am pleased to see you have been able to put it to rights."

She had to chuckle, only because she was unsure how else to react. "Yes, in many ways, it is finer than it was before." She bit at her lower lip, her brow worried. "Solaufein, is there a reason you have called on me at home?" He shot her a hard glance, and she added, "I do not care that you have. This is simply a first. That is all."

He looked askance, his lips still tight. And for half a moment, it looked as if he was reconsidering his purpose in coming. Finally, he spoke. "Whiteleaf...how long are you going to allow such slander to be spoken of you?" He pointed towards the arched window, indicting the whole of Suldanessellar in one angry gesture.

She thought about asking what slander he meant, but she knew feigned ignorance was not the card to play. “So it has reached your ears now.”

He crossed his arms. “You did not answer my question.”

She felt a flash of irritation (w _hat business is it of yours!?_ ), but quelled it quickly. "All have the right to their opinion and its expression," she said quietly. "I may not like what has been said of me, but I will not prevent anyone from speaking their mind. To do otherwise would be a gross abuse of my power."

She had never seen him dumbfounded before. She had thought more than once in the course of their verbal sparring that she would enjoy the sight, but now that it was before her, she found she was not so sure. "But you... You are second only to the Queen herself in this city," he said. “How can you accept such criticism, spoken so openly?”

“I have no choice! This is not the Underdark, Solaufein. We cannot go about silencing all aspersion simply because we do not like it!”

It was a low blow, she knew, and she was almost aggravated enough not to care. He glared. “My thanks, Whiteleaf. I might never noticed this was not the Underdark had you not reminded me.”

She folded her own arms, mirroring his stance. “I have answered your question now. Are you satisfied?”

He looked away, his posture tense as a wound spring. “Not by any estimation.” His eyes returned to her, their expression almost pleading. “If the Queen has said you are not to be blamed, why is that not enough? Why must the gossips and agitators still tarnish your name?”

She sighed. “Solaufein…you saw what happened here. What the Exile did. And you know how he came by that name.” The all too familiar knot of shame twisted within her, like an ancient snake wrapped about a tree limb. “You know my part in that.”

“Surely you know better than to let such wounds fester,” he said, eyeing her closely. “You made a choice in error many years ago. And I find it strange that you are so easily put off your balance by this. I would have thought it more difficult to destabilize you.”

She gritted her teeth. _So he knows me so well now, does he?_ “I have made many missteps in my life, made many choices that cost time, effort and lives, and yet I still manage to pry myself from my bed in the morning. I know how to accept the consequences of my actions!”

“But the Exile is a different matter.” His eyes, unnervingly shrewd and sharp, bored at her, and she could not stand the scrutiny.

“It is nothing you need concern yourself with,” she muttered.

Something froze in his features. When he spoke again, his words were clipped. “It was my understanding that friendship carried the implication of concern. Forgive me. I was apparently mistaken.”

The sentiment behind the words meant more than she would have thought, and, for some reason, that only made it worse. “I do not need you worrying over me. I have endured the poor opinion of others before.”

“Very well then,” he said softly. “Martyr yourself needlessly.” He turned for the sitting room door, and in the instant his back turned, she saw something like disappointment in the set of his shoulders. Suddenly, she could not let him leave without explaining herself.

“I knew it was wrong!” she cried. He stopped in the doorway, head tilted but not turned. “You want to know why I have said nothing in my own defense? Because I knew, in my heart, even as I supported Ellesime’s scheme, that it was not right! I made the wrong choice, for the wrong reasons, and I _knew_ it.”

He remained still, framed in the door like a painting. “So you do not protest because you feel you deserve it. The words others speak echo what you already hear in your own mind.”

Trust him to see to the heart of it. “Yes.”

“I see.” He paused thoughtfully, then asked, “Is that why you have been avoiding me?”

 _That is ridiculous, I have not been av-_ Her head dropped. “I...I suppose I thought you would think poorly of me.”

“Why?” He turned, and the coolness of his eyes unsettled her. They were the eyes of Solaufein of Ust Natha, she realized, enforcer of the will of the Matron Mothers. In them, she saw the reflections of the things he must have seen and done, things she did not wish to dwell on. “What of it? You should not have to justify yourself to me, or to anyone.”

“I have to justify myself to _everyone_.”

“Silence is not justification. Do you think me your enemy?”

“Of course not! But this is not a matter of friend versus enemy,” she said uneasily.

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Because that is very much what I see.”

“You would be more prone to see things from such a perspective.” She looked away crossly.

“Perhaps so. Perhaps my distance allows me to view this from a more rational perspective.”

She inhaled angrily. “Rational? What gives you the right to lecture me on rationality?”

“Considering which one of us is currently sunk in a pit dug by their own guilt, I would say I have every right,” he retorted.

“Oh, yes, I am sure that your interpretation is so very enlightened. Please, do illuminate where my personal flaws have led me astray!”

“Shocking though it may be, I _am_ on your side, Whiteleaf,” he growled. “But you’re taking aim at the wrong target. I will not be insulted because you need someone to abuse.”

That was it. “Nor will I because _you_ think you have me so well read!”

“Is that what you think?” He stared her down, and she glared back with equal, livid force. “Do you believe that of me, truly? Because if you do, you do not know me at all.”

“That is a statement easily turned on the speaker,” she shot back.

His eyes blazed. “ _Waela_ ,” he spat, turning on his heel.

“I will take that as a term of endearment!” she shouted at his departing back. He let the slam of the front door be his response. “Boor,” she grumbled.

She looked unhappily about the sitting room for a moment, then stamped up the stairs to her bedroom to fetch her cudgel. She had a sudden urge to beat something.

⁂⁂⁂

Solaufein knew he wasn’t paying the Queen as much attention as he should. Outwardly, he was cool and calm as ever, and he had mostly managed to impose a similar state in his mind, but part of him still seethed. It was a small part, and one mostly unconnected from the rest of his thought processes, but it was loud. How dare she? He had gone to her out of concern, and she tossed it back in his face! Well, he would see about that. All her fine talk about equality – if that were truly the case, then he had every right to call her folly what it was. He was not about to be pushed around by her, and if she thought-

“You seem distracted, Solaufein.”

Ellesime’s voice was soft, and her smile gentle, but her unflagging amiability just put him more on guard. In the Underdark, such behavior was either madness or a sign of terrible things to come, but he had no such certainty in Suldanessellar. If anything, the thought that one might genuinely be so mild and sweet natured, with no ulterior motive, was fairly off-putting.

He cleared his throat. “Only momentarily, Your Majesty. Rest assured, you have my attention.”

The Queen’s smile did not waver even a fraction, and there was a gleam of understanding in her eyes that sent a shiver of wariness down his spine. She couldn’t read minds, could she? She absently shuffled some papers about on her desk, and a letter, written in a cramped but spidery hand, ended up on top. Solaufein almost smiled. Here was another thing unchanged whether above the surface or below, it seemed. That was a mager’s handwriting; they all wrote like that. His curiosity piqued, he amused himself puzzling out the words. He had been quite proficient at reading Drow upside down (a necessary skill if one wanted to know _anything_ ), and he wondered if Elvish was any more difficult.

As the phrases came to him, he struggled to keep his face still. “Though I defer to Your Majesty’s wisdom, my opinion remains unchanged… Some public statement must be made… Her part cannot be overlooked… The Whiteleaf must respond…” The signature was half-obscured by the Queen’s hand, but he could make out the letters F-A-V. His mind raced through a very short list of possible candidates.

“At any rate, that is all that I have,” Ellesime said. “Was there anything you wished to discuss?” She folded her hands, uncovering the name at the bottom of the letter, and he felt a thrill of triumph. Favelien, master of the Collegium. He had been right. He liked being right.

“No, Your Majesty, I have nothing. As always, I thank you for your time.”

“Then do have a pleasant evening,” she said warmly. He bowed, and exited.

Would he simply be able to ask for audience, he thought as he walked, or would he have to employ more devious means to get at Master Favelien? And if things should get out of hand, was he prepared to beat a hasty retreat to avoid trouble, and what, precisely, did he think he was doing? She had been avoiding him, of all the childish things. And then she shouted at him! Why should he bother moving an inch in her defense? Hadn’t she brought this on herself?

 _Look at it as a learning exercise_ , he told himself. Speaking to Favelien would give him the other side of the story.

Yes. That was it.

He had never been within the mages’ Collegium. His indifferent ability with cantrips was certainly nothing to those who made a life’s study of arcanum, so he had not seen any need to enter. Though he garnered a range of stares, from the hard and disapproving to the curious, he was not accosted by any that he passed as he entered the structure.

He looked about, getting his bearings. Like every other building in Suldanessellar, the Collegium was built around and upon the trunks and branches of the trees in clusters, with narrow walkways connecting them as a complex. A staircase wound about a central tree, taller than the others, and his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. One could always find a high-ranking mager by looking up.

He knocked when he reached the door at the top of the stairs. This was a courtesy call, he reminded himself, though the small part of his mind that had previously been consuming with raging at Demin found a new target. _Who are you to make demands of **her**_? The door swung open, seemingly of its own accord, and he found himself staring into a pair of iridescent eyes, set above a long, pale green snout.

“Whom may I say is calling?” asked the fairy dragon primly.

The little creature hovered at eye level with him on its odd, butterfly-like wings, and he wanted desperately to laugh at its fussy manner and squeaky voice, but he resolutely refused to let his expression change. He looked past the familiar, through the antechamber, and into the room beyond. “I can see your master in the next room,” he replied evenly, “and I’m quite sure he knows who I am.”

“This is very irregular,” it groused shrilly. “I am afraid that-”

“He is right, Miri,” said a voice from the inner doorway. “I do know who he is, and if he has come calling, I am interested indeed in what he has to say.” The little dragon huffed, but fluttered out of Solaufein’s way, and he surveyed the master of the Collegium carefully. Unremarkable in either height or build, the wizard wore a deceptively plain robe, but Solaufein could see the embroidery at the cuffs, worked in thread almost the same dark red as the cloth itself, and he recognized some of the runes. A clever touch. “Do come in,” Favelien said. “Seat yourself, if you’ve a mind. Please close the door, Miri.”

“I’ll stand,” Solaufein replied, echoing the mage’s cool tone. Favelien shrugged.

“Suit yourself.” He turned back towards the strange array he had been working on, and Solaufein made note of the overtness of the gesture. “Did Demin send you?”

“Why would you assume that she did?”

There was a barely contained sneer in the mage’s voice. “You have been often remarked in her company, and she has been your staunchest defender from your first appearance in this city. Surely you do not think me fool enough not to recognize an alliance when I see one.”

“That does not make me her servant. Or her dog.”

“Perhaps not, but it seems she keeps you on a choke chain nonetheless.”

Solaufein cocked an eyebrow. He had scarcely passed the threshold and the Magister was already resorting to _that_ sort of insult. He must have been holding that one for a while, just waiting for his chance. “This may come as a surprise, Master Favelien, but I have never cared for those sorts of games. I cannot speak for the Whiteleaf, of course. She keeps her own counsel.” He folded his hands behind his back. “But it is not her I wish to discuss. At the moment, I am more interested in your Exile.”

Favelien turned to face him, and Solaufein met his hooded eyes calmly. One couldn’t let magers catch a whiff of fear, but so long as they believed their magic the subject of sufficient awe, they were usually pliable enough. “He was one of us, you know. A member of the Collegium. Do you know, drow, what he did?”

“He attempted to bond himself with the Tree of Life, which would have placed divine power at his command, and likely destroyed this city in this process. But the Queen did not execute him for his crimes, though many demanded it. And the Whiteleaf chose to support the Queen’s decision to let him live.” He watched the mage’s face as he spoke. “How is my history thus far?”

“Somewhat general, but you have the substance of it. Now turn the pages, and go forward. Having made use of his years in exile to research yet more despicable magicks and cement alliances with the grotesque and obscene, he returns, armed with the soul of a Child of Bhaal and at the head of an army of our most ancient enemies. You were here then. You saw what was left in their wake. And you saw that it took outsiders to save us from him.”

“Does that disturb you, Master Favelien? That Maera destroyed him, and not you?” Favelien stiffened slightly, and Solaufein added smoothly, “I mean you in the general, collective sense.”

“There is an appealing symmetry to the fact that the one whose power he stole to destroy us was his undoing. I would not deny her heroism for a moment. But ultimately, he should have never been given the opportunity at all. He and his sister should have died. The suffering wrought by his return, the lives lost…it should never have happened.”

“But was it not ultimately the Queen’s choice?” Solaufein asked.

“The Queen was blinded by her feelings.” Favelien peered down his nose at Solaufein. “And you need not scamper back to her with that; she has admitted to it herself.”

“I never scamper, if I can help it.”

“I am sure you do not.” The mage pursed his lips. “The simple fact of the matter is that Queen Ellesime, despite her paternity, is still very much mortal, subject to the same whims and foolishness as the rest of us. That is why her word is not law; that is why others may veto her decrees. Whiteleaf Demin was in a position to do so, and she did not. The Queen may have suffered an excess of sentimentality, but the Whiteleaf was a coward. I know which I consider the greater offense.”

Solaufein stiffened, his spine slowly turning to ice. Favelien fixed him with the sort of examining gaze he might give an unusual specimen. “You are a strange one, drow. I see you have not come to attempt intimidation, and if you are not here to speak for Demin’s good name, why come at all? What does any of this matter to you?”

_Because the past is like a mineshaft, and if its walls are not well braced, it will collapse in on the present. If this is to be my home, I have no choice but to care. I owe it to myself to know why, and how, and whose hand, these things came to pass._

_I owe it to her, too_.

He felt a stab of distaste. Hells and Abyss, he was angry with her, and not everything he did needed to involve her! He repeated that to himself vehemently in the moment it took him to reformulate his vocal response.

“There is a saying in Common about cats and curiosity,” he replied, with a shrug he calculated to be casual.

“I am familiar with it, and I would advise you to remember the lesson of that saying,” Favelien returned calmly. “Was there anything else?”

Not quite a threat, but hardly a cessation of hostilities. “No, there was not. I thank you for your time.”

⁂⁂⁂

The chief difference between sleep and reverie, Soluafein had noticed, was that he could still engage in conscious thought while in reverie, and as thinking was one of his great pleasures, it was a change that he liked. His thoughts that night were consumed by his conversation with Favelien, its implications, and how it fit against what he already knew. One thing still vexed him, however, as his body rested. Though he had apparently answered the question of why he had come well enough for the Collegium’s master to at least feign acceptance, he found he had not answered it to his own satisfaction. He wrestled with the problem throughout the night, and the solution came to him shortly after dawn with the crushing obviousness of a rockslide. He dressed with almost impossible haste, and raced towards the palace.

Naren was on guard that morning, but he did not spare a moment for her bright smile of greeting, pushing past her to wrench open the Queen’s door. “You used me!” he exclaimed.

Ellesime looked up with an innocent blink. “Excuse me?”

“You wanted me to speak with Favelien, so you purposefully arranged those letters so I would see the one he wrote! You made sure of it! You manipulated me, and that-" His mind caught up to his mouth, and he stared at her, dumbstruck. "Is frankly rather brilliant."

She laughed softly. “Oh, if only Demin were here. She would dearly love to see the look on your face right now.” Her expression grew somber, and she said, “I feel that I should apologize, however. It was underhanded of me, I know, but I wanted it to be your idea. I had a feeling you would go; you don’t seem to be able to help yourself. But I had to be certain, and I didn’t want to ask you outright. That would have colored your perceptions.”

He continued to stare, but now that the shock had passed, he felt as though he could see her now with clearer eyes. He shook his head with admiration. “Why?”

“I wanted your opinion of him, and the situation. Tell me, what were your impressions?”

Solaufein paced for a moment, reorganizing the night’s thoughts. “He wants punishment. He wants someone to pay. Irenicus was not punished sufficiently for his first crime, and an outsider was the instrument of his punishment for the second. To his mind, that leaves an unequal scale.”

Ellesime nodded, her eyes distant. “And he directs his ire at the most obvious target.”

“Other than rumor mongering, what can he do, Your Majesty? I…I admit, I do not know enough of your politics to know the possible outcomes.”

“He could call for her ouster.” The coldness returned to his gut, twisting acrobatically within him. “If he can demonstrate that he speaks for a majority of the citizenry, it is within his rights to do so.” The Queen cast him a very faint smile. “I understand that it is likely an alien concept for you, but there are checks on my power, set in place by my father Rillifane himself. I cannot simply quash that which displeases me. Consensus and compromise must be had.”

“Do you think that it will come to that? He will seek her removal?”

She moved her shoulders in a small shrug. “That is why I wished you to speak with him. I remain unsure, but I begin to fear that may be his aim.”

“Because he cannot do so to you,” Solaufein said quietly. Ellesime’s head bent, just a fraction of a degree.

“Yes.”

“Am I to assume, then, that you consider me your agent in this matter?”

“Assumptions are messy things, Master Solaufein.” He raised an eyebrow at the honorific, but she continued without pause. "Let us say instead that we both have the best interests of a dear friend at heart.”


	4. Nursery Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Let me be as confident as I sound.'_

There was someone standing outside her door. Demin could see them in the gathering evening gloom as she approached. She tensed, and hated herself for it; this was her home, and she should feel safe here, but recently, the sensation of being watched had become well nigh overpowering. As she drew nearer, the warm outline of the lurker resolved itself into recognizable features – a dark profile, silvery-white hair, red eyes.

Well, well. Lord Rationality had descended to share his wisdom with her once again. How generous of him. She considered her possible actions. Ignore him? A cutting remark, and _then_ ignore him? Or perhaps she should-

“I am sorry I called you a fool,” he said.

She stopped short. “ _That_ _’s_ what that meant? I honestly expected something a bit more vulgar.”

His lips slid into a half-smile. “Would you prefer more vulgarity? If there is one thing the Drow language excels at, it is questioning the intelligence, hygiene, and sexual habits of others. I’m sure I could think of something that would rise to your standard.”

Damn him, she had missed this. “Only if you promise it will be the most deviant thing you can think of.”

“Are you really sure you want to know the most deviant thing I can think of?”

She laughed softly, and ducked her head. “I should apologize as well, Solaufein. You came to me as a friend and I did not respect that. I behaved very poorly.” She looked back at him, and added with mock severity, “And now you have shown me up by being the one to apologize first!”

He cleared his throat and rubbed his neck absently. “I wish I could accept that praise, but…I did not come here entirely of my own volition.” He glanced away. “The Queen informed me that she would have no more use for me if I was going to ‘persist in sulking’, as she put it.”

Demin stared at him for a moment, and burst out laughing. He looked up, his expression sour, but the smile was still in his eyes, at least. She unlocked her door and held it open. “Will you come in?”

“I will, if I may sit and be at ease and there will be no shouting,” he replied. “Your sitting room is a dangerous place.”

“I promise there will be no shouting.”

“I will hold you to that.”

She left him in the sitting room, and went into the kitchen to make tea. As she poured the boiling water from kettle to teapot, she realized she was smiling, and chuckled to herself. Elhan had been right. She did enjoy the challenge Solaufein presented. She could sharpen her wits on his like steel on stone, and not being on speaking terms with him was simply no fun.

He was sitting on the sofa, staring at the wall thoughtfully, but his eyes moved towards her when she reentered. “I spoke to Master Favelien,” he said.

She tried not to let her hands shake as she set down the tea tray. The very sound of the name made her want to shudder. “Why would you do that?”

“Information is as gold, Whiteleaf. You should know his motivations.”

“I do.”

“No,” he said gently, “you know _yours_. If you feel you are deserving of punishment, fair enough. But do not let him and those who support him do it for you.” She sat heavily, sighing, and he added, “I know it is not my place to tell you how to conduct your affairs, but…you know your position is at stake. And I personally would not see you replaced just because some mager has a fit of pique.”

She had to smile at that. “Then you did not like him.”

“Not in the slightest. I found his opinions…poorly expressed.”

“Oh?”

“He called you a coward. I disagree with that sentiment.”

She glanced away, surprised by her own embarrassment. “I…I cannot help but think how different everything would have been had I supported Joneleth’s execution. And I know; different does not necessarily mean better, but then I think of all those who died when he returned, and… It is very difficult to reconcile.”

They were both quiet for a moment. “I do not know what comfort it may be,” he ventured finally, “but if he had not returned to take his vengeance on Suldanessellar, I would have never come here.”

She couldn’t help herself; she laughed. “The most unintended consequence of all; taking tea with a drow in my sitting room.” She suddenly remembered the teapot. “Oh no. I let it steep too long.” She opened the top and looked unhappily into the murky depths. The tea was decidedly opaque.

Solaufein peered over her to see for himself. “I believe I will have some anyway.” Before she could object, he poured himself a cup and took a long drink. “Not bad at all, actually.” He smiled, and she stared at him.

“But isn’t it bitter?”

“Yes, extremely, but you surfacers like everything too mild.”

You surfacers. He so rarely said things like that. His physical appearance made his otherness so obvious that he went to great pains not to point it out by word or deed. She supposed it something of an honor that he no longer felt it necessary to be so careful around her. He took another drink, his enjoyment evident, and she shook her head.

“I never know what to make of you.”

“And yet you continually attempt it.”

“I cannot stop myself, it seems.”

“I can relate.”

She silently watched him drink his overbrewed tea. “Solaufein…what should I do?”

“Are you asking me for advice?” He looked at her as if she had just grown another arm and was asking what color she should paint the nails.

“Yes. That is what friends do, after all.”

He set down his cup, making an obvious effort to put his thoughts in order. “You must speak for yourself. You must address this, directly. The longer this matter goes without answer from you, the worse you will be painted. Favelien is wrong – you are no coward. You should remember that, and remind them as well.”

She nodded, turning his words over in her mind like a jeweler’s tumbler. “Why do you have such faith in me?” she asked softly.

His dark coloring made it difficult to tell, but she was almost certain his face had flushed. “I am merely returning the favor.” He stood. “I should go. Thank you for the hospitality.”

How different from the first time he had been in her home, she thought as she watched him leave. If not for Maera's word, she would have killed him on the spot that night. And circumstances seemed determined to blast her initial assumptions to smoking rubble. “Sometimes,” she said aloud to herself, “one’s first instinct is _not_ the one to follow.” _Like the instinct to hide your face in shame when an old sin is brought back into the light?_ She sighed.

Yes, exactly like that.

⁂⁂⁂

She saw him again the next afternoon, entering her office in the wake of a tight-lipped Latiel. “Solaufein, good day. Do I dare wonder what mischief brings you here?”

He looked about with interest, and she realized he had never been in her office before. Every corner was subjected to a sharp-eyed gaze that would, she was sure, notice if she moved even one sheet of paper askew. “No mischief, Whiteleaf. I am wounded you would consider me capable of such.” His tone was mild, but in his eyes, she could see the foil raised, first in salute, then in a guard. She would strive not to disappoint him.

“If I am able to wound you with such gentle speculation, actual interrogation would leave you bleeding on my floor.”

“There is a pun involving pointed questions lurking in that statement. Kindly make it and spare us both the agony.”

She laughed. “Now that you have attempted to force my hand…never.” She noticed an envelope in his hand, and cocked her head. “Are you bearing messages?”

“I am about the Queen’s business, actually.” He handed her the letter, meeting her eyes with deliberateness. “She wished me to deliver it to your hands directly.”

“And does your new career as post carrier suit you?” she asked with false brightness, mindful of the open door.

“It fulfills me in ways I had not thought possible,” he replied blandly. “I should be on my way. Good day, Whiteleaf.”

Demin was about to open the seal on the letter when Latiel lightly knocked on the frame. “May I have a word?”

“Of course.” For some reason, Demin felt compelled to slide Ellesime’s letter under a book. Curse Solaufein and his devious mind. It was rubbing off. She put her elbows on the desk, and rested her chin on her laced fingers. “What can I do for you, Latiel?”

Latiel quietly closed the door behind her, and sat down in the plain chair directly opposite Demin’s. “Do you think it wise to encourage him?”

 _Oh, Latiel, not you too_. "Encourage whom in what?"

Her attempt at ignorance was buried in an avalanche on the icy slopes of the Oakheart's reproach. "You know who I am referring to. The drow. Solaufein." Latiel leaned forward slightly. "He could hurt you, Demin."

Demin bit the inside of her lip. Latiel, the soul of professionalism, so rarely called her by name that doing so automatically captured full attention. "He is not a wild animal."

"That is not what I meant. I hope you do not think I am speaking out of turn, but...Master Favelien has supporters in the guilds, and in the guard. And they will not hesitate to use anything they can against you."

Including your very obvious friendship with a drow, who certainly isn't the most popular figure in the city, and who's to say it's only friendship? Everyone knows what they say about drow. Perverts and debauchers, every one. Latiel didn't have to say a word of it. The implications hung in the air like smoke. _You give arrows to those who would shoot you_. She sighed. How the wheel turned.

And how hard would it be to set him aside? Her life did not revolve around him, after all. She had many responsibilities, and most pressingly, they were only fifteen days from the Autumn Equinox. The Transformation was a holy day of massive import; she should put him from her mind, and concentrate on what mattered. She had had more than enough to occupy her before he came to Suldanessellar.

But was that really the precedent she wanted to set for his life on the surface? Shunted aside because being seen with him might make her unpopular? Kept in a corner so he might not tarnish her by association? Spoken to only after the risks were weighed and found acceptable? How was that right? How was that fair? What sort of person would that make her? More importantly, would it make her someone the Leaflord still wanted as his priest?

And Rillifane help her, he made her laugh.

Latiel was watching, eyebrows slightly raised. The Oakheart knew her well enough to know when her silences were full of thought. "Thank you, Latiel," she said slowly. "Thank you for your honesty, and your loyalty. It means a great deal to me, that I can trust you to look out for me." Latiel smiled, and straightened in her seat, only to deflate at the next words. "But...the choice I see before me is one of political expediency against the demands of my conscience. And my conscience will win. It must. Always. I will not abandon Solaufein because it might make my life easier. I cannot."

"Whiteleaf," Latiel whispered, her brown eyes bright with worry, "how can one friendship possibly be worth your position? Your entire career? Think of all the good you have done, in all these years. Would you honestly toss that aside for a drow?"

"If I am doing the right thing, Rillifane will reward me. That is all I require."

Latiel stood, her unease writ large across her face. "You are taking a terrible risk."

"So it would seem, but it would not be the first time."

Latiel's head dipped in a quick nod and she exited without a word. Demin leaned back in her chair, exhaling slowly. _My Lord, attend your foolish child,_ she prayed. _Let me be as confident as I sound._

⁂⁂⁂

Twelve days. That was all she had.

Twelve days until the equinox, and Kilel of the Woodworkers’ Guild was _still_ dragging his feet, that irritating son of a troll. She needed those stanchions – the old ones had been destroyed when the drow sacked the temple - and all she was getting back were excuses for the delay. It was because of Favelien; she knew it was. And she did not want to involve Ellesime, not over something so petty as decoration.

Decorations! Mere surface trimmings designed to please the eye, even though the spiritual import of the holy day was what really mattered. But here she was, driven to distraction by replacement _things_ , even though she knew they were not worth a fraction of the anxiety she was letting herself feel. And she knew she could end the matter with a word to Ellesime, for the guildmaster would not dare cross the Queen. But she should not have to run to the protection of another like a bullied child just because gossip was making some small-minded fools recalcitrant. She wouldn’t.

It ate at her – the averted eyes, the conversations that hushed when she passed. She knew that Solaufein was right. She would have to respond. But she had no idea _how_. The tiny voice remained, refusing to be silenced. _They_ _’re right_ , it wept, _it was all my fault. I deserve this_. He had told her she wasn’t a coward. _Then why do I feel like one?_

It was unbearably late, and the temple was silent. Even the faithful Latiel had gone home hours before, but Demin could not. And knowing she could either pace restlessly in the temple or in her sitting room, she’d opted for the one with more space.

She loved the temple, and every twig that made it. It was her other home, her refuge, the center of her life, and she knew it all, from tree crown to roots. She knew its sounds and silences, from the morning bustle before the first worship to this, the stillness found only in the depth of the night. She wandered aimlessly, playing little attention to her path, and found herself in an upper hall that was given mostly to storage. But it was among those cluttered rooms that Solaufein stayed, and she wondered briefly if he at least was able to rest. Probably, yes, she thought, and instantly envied him. There was lamplight ahead, and it surprised her – it was unusual for anyone to be abroad in this out of the way hall at any hour, let alone the middle of the night, and Solaufein had no need of lamps. His darkvision far surpassed any surface elf’s.

The person ahead did not notice her until she was close enough to recognize the features. “Captain Kirlin,” she said, covering her confusion with authority, “I do not think it would reflect well on you if I told General Elhan I had managed to come up upon you without your notice.” The young captain stiffened in near horror, and whipped about to face her, his eyes huge. There was a pail at his feet, and a rag in one hand. He had been wiping the wall. She eyed him with a narrowed expression. “Captain, what are you doing?”

“Well, uh, Whiteleaf, I-”

She craned her neck to look around him at the half-cleaned markings on the wall, and her jaw dropped, hanging loose with shock. Kirlin had been well on the way to removing the words, but enough still remained for her to get the sense of them. She spoke slowly, forcing her voice low. “What is the meaning of this?”

He swallowed nervously. “I, um, wouldn’t feel comfortable repeating it to you, Whiteleaf; it was, uh…quite crude.”

“This is Solaufein’s room, is it not?” She jerked her head towards the door opposite.

It was amazing how small Kirlin could look, given his height. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Where is he?”

“I’m not sure,” he stammered. “He’s been helping me improve my training techniques, so we were talking, and I suppose I lost track of time… He’s really quite likable, once you get to know him,” he said, almost defensively.

Demin allowed herself a very small smile. “That he is."

“A-at any rate, we heard the noise here in the hall, but whoever did it was already gone when we looked out. He asked me to clean it up, and he left. I don’t know if he was going to look for them or not.” Kirlin gestured lamely towards the wall with his soggy rag. “So…that’s what I was doing.”

She took a deep breath, staring at the wall. What remained of the smeared message appeared to question Solaufein’s parentage, and a part of her wanted to laugh. No, he likely did not know who his father was, but to a drow, that was neither unusual nor shameful. But that did not change the fact that someone had written it, on the temple wall. This was barely a step removed from desecration, and the irony of that fact, in light of what had happened just a few short months ago, was dizzying. Her next breath was tight, and furious. Who would dare do such a thing? This was not some public house where graffiti might be scrawled for a laugh! This was Rillifane’s temple. HER temple. And someone within the walls must have been involved, whether as the vandal themselves, or simply turning a blind eye. _And your head has been so clouded you did not see what was under your own nose, idiot._ Well, they had her attention now.

Kirlin was watching her with scarcely contained terror in his eyes, and she consciously forced herself to relax. The poor lad didn’t need to fear her, especially when he was just doing a favor for a friend. (And it was good to know that Solaufein had such a friend.) “Thank you, Captain, but you should not have to do this. Return to your barracks and take some rest. The temple is due for cleaning before the equinox anyway, and the acolytes have grown lazy.”

“But I-”

She gently pried the rag away from him, and gently patted his now empty hand. “Good night, Captain.” He worked his mouth uselessly and finally gave a small, respectful nod before taking his lamp and disappearing down the dark hall. Demin summoned a priest’s light and in its silvery glow, stared at the defacement, lost in silent, angry thought.

She was unsure how much time passed before she heard the approaching steps. “Whiteleaf. There you are.”

The relief in Solaufein’s voice caught her off guard. “Were you looking for me?”

“I…” He drew close enough to be illuminated by her light, and he looked away, shading his eyes, though she thought she saw a mortified flicker in them as well. “When I saw this, I thought perhaps some…similar ugliness had been directed at you.”

She turned to look at him fully. “Did you go to my house?”

An awkward movement of his feet belied the pretense that he was not looking at her because of the light. “And I did not find you there.”

Perhaps it was her exhausted state, but the statement struck her as far funnier than it should. She swallowed a giggle. “Were you worried about me?”

He resorted to his old stalwarts - folded arms and an irritated expression. “I acted on impulse. I should have taken a moment to reflect that you would simply glare any threat into submission.”

The giggle threatened to return, spurred by both his embarrassment and the image of herself he painted. But looking at the damp wall sobered her quickly. His eyes cut towards it; she noticed the motion, and realized something.

“You had Kirlin cleaning this because you weren’t going to tell me about it, were you?” He was silent. “Solaufein…has this happened before?”

“Nothing so eye-catching.” She raised her eyebrows, and he followed the prompt with a sigh. “A few notes shoved under the door.” He shrugged. “I felt no threat.”

“If you are privy to my troubles, I think it only right that be a stair both climbed and descended. Wouldn’t you agree?”

He gave her a wary, sidelong glance. “You’re trying very hard not to shout at me again, aren’t you?”

“It’s not you I want to shout at,” she said tiredly. “This is not right, Solaufein, and you should not have to bear it. I am angry, but not at you.” He shifted his weight, and she recognized the stiff discomfort of his stance. She was too tired for diplomacy; she backhanded his upper arm. “And stop that!”

The blow did not seem to even register; he simply looked confused. “Stop what?”

“Stop acting as if I am condescending to be angry for your sake. It is not beneath me to feel this way, you know. I am not doing you a favor. You do not deserve to be treated like this!”

He was giving her that look again, the look of deep and slightly bewildered intrigue, as if he hoped that if he looked at her long enough, some truth would reveal itself and he would finally understand. Slowly, his expression shifted, becoming almost soft, and he murmured, “Nor do you deserve to have your wisdom and ability questioned.”

It was strange, she reflected, how the more others assumed a connection between them, the more real that connection became. “We seem to be in this mess together,” she said. Of its own volition, it seemed, her hand reached out to rest on his shoulder. He tensed for an instant, then raised his hand to cover hers. It was surprisingly warm.

“It would appear that our situations have grown strangely parallel, yes.” He tilted his head slightly. “It is very late, Whiteleaf. You should go home.”

She thought about all she had left to do, all the planning and preparation, all the expectations that weighed on her. She thought of the discord swirling around the city, like leaves in the autumn wind. And she decided that, for now, she did not care. “I suppose I should,” she agreed. She glanced towards the defaced wall, and the sight stoked her anger like a forge’s bellows. She gave his shoulder a brief squeeze before withdrawing her hand. “This will be dealt with in the morning.” 

⁂⁂⁂ 

Most in Suldanessellar tended to attend the evening rites if they felt the need to worship, so any given day, the majority of those congregated for the morning services were those who would be there anyway – the priests and acolytes. This suited Demin’s design perfectly; she simply let word pass that she wished the temple personnel to remain because she had something she wished to address. This would come as no surprise with the equinox approaching, and she _did_ have equinox-related business to discuss. But that was not the only topic on her mind. 

“Guide my words, My Lord,” she whispered as she stood before the altar, allowing the buzz of conversation among the assembled priesthood to die down. She took a step forward, and the noise ceased almost instantly. She smiled inwardly, and raised her voice. “My friends. It occurs to me that we have approached this autumn’s Transformation with a regrettable lethargy. And I know it to be a failure of my own making. I have allowed petty back-biting and recrimination to distract me from my duties. I have let it weigh on me and consume my thoughts. So I say to you all - that ends now. My work is for the Leaflord.” She scanned the faces before her. Some nodded, some smiled, and some still appeared troubled. She set her shoulders and pressed on. “And so should yours be! Whatever you have heard said of me, whatever you yourselves may have said, remember that it is not _my_ glory you work for, but Rillifane’s. All I ask is that you trust me in my own devotion. These other matters will be attended to in their own time, but I will not allow this temple to fall prey to division and discord! Not after all we have suffered!”

She could feel them following her words, weighing them, and there was a warmth to the air as they did so, a wave of affirmation that let her know the iron was ready for her strike. “And on the note of things I will not allow…It has come to my attention that there has been some less than welcoming gestures made towards our guest. And that disappoints me. Gravely.” She let the words hang just long enough for the whispers to reach an audible pitch, then continued, anger giving her volume. “Whether or not these actions are the work of any one or more persons in this room is immaterial. They have occurred within the walls of this temple, and that is _inexcusable_. This not a nursery school, and we are not children playing games. _I will not tolerate such foolishness_. I thought I had made that clear from the beginning, but apparently I am now forced to repeat myself. Do not give me cause to do so again.” She took a breath, relaxing her features. “If there is anything any of you wish to discuss, you know where I may be found. You may all go, though if the Silverbarks will remain, we still have some preparatory matters to on which to confer.” As the murmuring priests filed out of the sanctum, some casting careful glances back at her as they departed, she looked up towards the rafter balcony, and saw a dark figure watching the proceedings. She was fairly certain he was smiling.

  
She smiled back.


	5. The Voice of the Oak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _For the first time since he had come to the surface, there were no eyes of judgment or fear._

The festive nature of religion in Suldanessellar was a subject of much curiosity for Solaufein. In the Underdark, ceremonies in Lolth’s honor were better described as exercises in communal terror, and his personal worship of the Dark Maiden was, by necessity, a solitary endeavor. He honestly preferred it that way; he had been so long unconnected to others in matters of spirituality that the thought of being otherwise was strange. So he stared out Queen Ellesime’s office window at bunting being hung with what felt like an almost academic interest.

“How is Demin bearing up, by the way?” the Queen asked from her desk.

Solaufein turned. “Have you not spoken to her of late?”

“She is always so busy, come the equinoxes. As am I, though with different duties. It can make finding the time to speak as friends difficult.” Her mouth set unhappily. “And to be frank, she has not been terribly forthcoming recently. She seems more apt to be honest with you these days. Hence my question.” She sighed. “I think she is trying to protect me; pretending that all is well. I wish she would not. I will not have her fall in some misguided attempt to shield me from the wolves.”

“She will not fall, Your Majesty,” he said firmly. Ellesime smiled, and he gave her a thoughtful stare. “Since I came here, I have been repeatedly asked why I care to involve myself in this city’s affairs; what my interest is. But not by you.”

She tilted her head, and shrugged ever so slightly. “That is because it is evident.”

It took a moment for him to realize that his first reaction to those words was not disquiet or caution. In a time not so far past, such a statement would have had him watching his back, alert for a breach of his defenses. But the Queen did not inspire such concern. Was it a mistake to trust her this far? After all, there was a sharp intelligence behind her eyes; she was more than capable of playing a deep game. _But she trusts me_ , he thought. She had trusted him with her city’s intelligence, with her own thoughts, and with the security of her dearest friend. Trust was a debt, it seemed, meant to be paid back in kind. How interesting.

He looked back out the window, watching the streamers snap in the stiff autumn breeze. “What may I expect of tomorrow?”

“Beginning at mid-day, there will be services at the temple, and throughout the city there will be feasting, dancing, and general foolishness well into the small hours.” She smiled genially, her tone making it obvious that the foolishness was likely her favorite part. But her face stilled, and she continued, more seriously, “The Transformation is a celebration of change. Much has changed for us all in this past year. It is good that we should mark it.”

 _Much has changed._ A sweeping understatement if ever he had heard one. “Indeed, Your Majesty,” Solaufein murmured. “I can see the appeal of such a holy day.”

⁂⁂⁂

Demin rose before dawn the morning of the Transformation, and was in the sanctum by daybreak, trying to focus her mind on the day ahead and ignore her hatred of her ceremonial robes. They were undoubtedly beautiful – heavy white silk embroidered, also in white, with a pattern of oak leaves and ivy – and countless hours of effort by hands vastly more skilled than her own had crafted them. But the collar was higher than her liking, and the wide skirts tangled about her legs, and there was just something about formal garb that irritated her on general principle.

She sighed, and mentally tossed her annoyance onto the fires of preparation. This was an important day, and that knowledge wrapped itself around her mind as her robe did her ankles. Every Transformation was important, just as every holy day was. As every day was. But she had plans for this one, and she hoped Rillifane could forgive her for co-opting his celebration for her own purposes.

If he didn’t, he would let her know.

At mid-morning, the rest of the priests joined her for a brief prayer service before the rites were due to begin. They had all been on their best behavior since she had dressed them down, and though no one had admitted to the graffiti outside Solaufein’s door, more than one had quietly come to her to apologize for a variety of other, minor sins. She supposed it was the thought that counted. At least she could say with confidence that her house was once more in hand.

The sanctum began to fill shortly before, and she knew it would be packed to capacity. Like its vernal counterpart, the autumn equinox loomed over all other observances in Suldanessellar, and even those whose primary worship was reserved for others of the Seldarine found time to attend. The city was Rillifane’s, after all, and acknowledging their patron’s role in everything they had was the least any of them could do.

There was comfort in the regularity of worship. Despite being a celebration of change, the Transformation itself did not. From year to year, the recitation of the litanies and the hymns of praise were the same as they had even been. _Change itself can be relied upon as a constant_ , she thought. Oh, that was very good, and if she had not already had something very specific in mind to say, that thought might have changed the entire direction of her intended homily.

At the appropriate time, she stepped forward, surveying the faces of Suldanessellar. Gazing back at her were the young and old, male and female, from the greatest to the least, many she recognized by sight, if not by name. Elhan sat beside his wife, Ehlya, and their youngest daughter, the only one still at home. There was the proprietor of her favorite bakery, Mistress Delina, and beyond her, the young soldier Naren. Guildmaster Kilel watched her with a furrowed brow, flanked on either side by his sons, and above the crowd, from a high, obscured balcony, she felt the gaze of a familiar pair of garnet eyes. What had begun from discomfort had become habit, and she was sure Solaufein enjoyed his high vantage point because it appealed to his observational nature. He could not help but watch the things that occurred around him, and attempt to make sense of it. It was simply part of who he was. She smiled inwardly to herself. There was something endearing in that.

She gave a small shake of her head, and took a deep breath. Being Whiteleaf meant she did not have the luxury of fearing public speech, but being watched by thousands was still daunting. Squaring her shoulders, she began to speak.

“Children of the Oak. Every year, we come together to celebrate the turning of the seasons, and what that means to us, as elves, and as followers of the Leaflord. We speak of change, on this occasion, not just outward change, but the changes within our own hearts and spirits. The Transformation is a reflection on renewal, and on loss, and this year in particular, we have seen much of each.” She scanned the crowd, meeting every eye that would look back. “I shall not be disingenuous and tiptoe around that which rests on every heart; I speak of Joneleth, who called himself Irenicus, the Exiled One. I speak of the destruction wrought by his return, and how each of us was remade in the crucible of those days this past summer. And I speak as the one who allowed it to happen.”

The silence that lay over the sanctum was absolute. It seemed even the trees were listening, and perhaps they were. She met Ellesime’s eyes; the Queen’s face was pale as parchment, but she gave a tiny nod of encouragement. “There are those here,” Demin continued, “who are too young to remember those days. His first sacrilege, and the tumult that followed. It fell to me to be the deciding voice in the determination of his punishment. And I did not choose wisely.” She chuckled, a small, humorless laugh. “So I stand before you weak, and foolish, and wrong.

“I will not beg your forgiveness, my friends. You may give it if you wish, and I will accept it whole-heartedly, but I want only from you what you feel I have earned. I have been blessed to ascend high in the service of my Lord Rillifane, but I am still mortal, changeable, and prone to do that which not always in the best interest of others or myself. But as long as you will allow me, I will endeavor to continue serving our god as he deserves.” She looked into the crowd again, deliberately seeking out averted faces or unhappy eyes. Like Favelien’s, narrowed and displeased. “For I am your servant as well. I speak for the Leaflord only at your sufferance, and as long as you judge me worthy, I will do so with joy in my heart.” She reached up to her neck, unclasping her holy symbol, an acorn carved from amber. She spread her arms, and let it dangle from her right hand, visible to every eye in the crowd. “Be as the Oak, my brothers and sisters,” she said, closing her eyes as the acorn began to glow, the gentle touch of Rillifane’s presence sweeping over her. “Go in peace.”

⁂⁂⁂

As the sun set, Solaufein skirted the fringes of the gathering crowd on the court platform. A group of musicians plucked their way through a delicate but ultimately forgettable air, and a space in the center of the platform cleared for dancing. Near the palace doors, a small dais had been erected, and the Queen sat, watching the festivities with a faint smile. She turned her head slightly, and said something to Demin, who stood beside her. The Whiteleaf smiled in reply, and it was the most genuine smile he had seen grace her features in weeks. She looked as though a weight had been lifted from her, and while she had not routed her enemies just yet, she had won this day at least. It was a victory, then, and worth savoring. A small knot of disapproving faces, centered around Favelien of the Collegium, glowered in her direction in darkened brows, but she swept past them without a second glance, and he had to restrain the juvenile impulse to point and laugh. He settled instead for weaving through the crowd towards her. Noting his approach, she flashed another smile, and he leaned towards her ear to be better heard over the crowd.

“Were you planning to join the dance, Whiteleaf?”

She shook her head ever so slightly. “Not here.” He wondered at the expression on his face, because she immediately continued, “Not because I do not wish to.” She lowered her voice. “You must admit, this particular celebration is not terribly exciting. I know where much better diversion may be found.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”

She nodded conspiratorially, and to his surprise, took his hand. “Come with me.”

She led him downward, through the city towards the forest floor, where a bonfire had been laid in the center of the market meadow. A large group of elves, several dozen at least, were gathered about it, and a small clutch of musicians tuned their instruments against the raucous conversation and laughter. More than one person hailed Demin as they passed, and if any found Solaufein’s presence in her wake strange, there was no obvious comment. She made a straight path for one male in particular, whose white hair and calm bearing marked him as being of very mature years. “Boughstirrer,” Demin said, and to Solaufein’s barely concealed shock, bowed low before him.

The elderly elf returned the courtesy with equal gravity. “Whiteleaf.” He smiled broadly, and with a laugh, Demin embraced him.

“Novian! How are you? So much has happened since we saw each other last!”

“Much indeed, little Demin. Were you planning to introduce me to your friend?”

“Oh, of course. Forgive me.” Demin’s smile grew sheepish, and she turned slightly towards Solaufein. “Solaufein, this is Boughstirrer Novian, Grand Druid of the Heartwoods Grove. Many of these folk here are of his circle. Novian, this is Solaufein.”

Solaufein found himself subject to a firm handclasp and a penetrating gaze. He could not have hidden even a moment’s thought from the druid’s eyes, and he knew better than to try. “Be easy, son,” Novian said, so softly even Demin might not have heard his words. “You are welcome here.” He raised his voice, and clapped a jovial hand to Demin’s back. “This one, however, is likely here for one thing only.” He hugged her to his side with one arm. “This year’s cider is particularly fine, dearest.”

Her eyes were bright. “Is it?”

Novian nodded. “And I am sure some would be provided for your delectation, if you were to ask. And Solaufein’s, as well.”

“I do not think he would care for your cider, Novian,” Demin said with a laugh. “He does not have a taste for sweet things. However, if you brought some of that dreadful black verra beer of yours, that might be more to his liking.” With a nod to the Grand Druid, she hustled Solaufein towards the piled up barrels and casks just beyond the circle of firelight. “The court celebration is very fine, and is the place to be seen if that is what you desire,” she explained as she handed him a cup. “And the guild parties are all perfectly serviceable. But I personally would not celebrate the Transformation with anyone other than our friends from the grove.” She smiled as she helped herself to a generous portion of cider. “And not just because they bring gifts.”

She had been right about the beer, and he nursed the dark, bitter brew thoughtfully as he watched the celebrants around the fire. He thought he recognized a few of the faces, a guard or two, and a few priests, including Demin’s officious aide Latiel; the Whiteleaf was not the only one who liked to make merry with the druids, it seemed. A bow scraped across strings, and an appreciative roar went up from the assemblage as the music began, faster and wilder than anything being played above for the Queen, he was sure. Demin handed him her drink. “If you will be so kind…” She began to unlace the front of her robes, and his eyebrows rose.

“I did not take you for an exhibitionist, Whiteleaf. The more I learn of you, the more I am intrigued.”

She gave a roll of her eyes as she divested herself of the robe to reveal the plain and serviceable kirtle beneath. “Hardly. No one could dance in that monstrosity.”

“Then you will dance after all?”

“Of course,” she said tartly. He smiled and began to take another drink, but halfway to his mouth, the mug’s progress was arrested by her hand on his wrist. “I hope you did not mean for me to do so alone.”

He carefully extricated his wrist from her grasp, and set aside his drink with equal care. The music swirled about them, there was laughter and rejoicing in the air, and no one seemed to mind that he was a part of it. And Demin stood before him with an eyebrow raised and a challenge in her smile. Of all her faces, this one he liked best. “I did not,” he said. “Try to keep up, Whiteleaf.”

Her smile broadened impishly. “You do realize I see through your attempts at provocation.”

“I know. I count on it.”

The tempo had increased, and their dancing dash about the fire had them both laughing before the song had even reached the end of the first stanza. She led, but the steps were easy to follow; her skirt swirled about her, brushing his legs as she turned, releasing his hand and catching it again on the next beat. The firelight cast all in a golden glow, and the air was thick with the scent of smoke and the damp autumn woods, but what he would remember best was the sense of freedom. For the first time since he had come to the surface, there were no eyes of judgment or fear. Only the joy of a simple pleasure, shared with one who saw him only as himself.

The song wound to its end, and, after seeking to quench their newly acquired thirst, they found a spot to rest near the fire. She sat lightly on one of the logs, enjoying her second cider more slowly, and he sprawled on the ground nearby, staring up through the haze of smoke and tangle of tree limbs to the starry sky, high above.

One tune melded into another, and the pipes grew melancholy. One of the younger druids, a female with dark hair, began to sing along, her soft voice stilling the conversations around the fire. The mandolin picked up the tune, but no others accompanied, letting the druid’s voice carry, sweet and sad, through the small gathering. Solaufein tilted his head, and glanced up at Demin. “I know this song,” he murmured.

“It's very old,” she replied, slowly turning her tankard in her hands. “Perhaps your ancestors carried it with them into the dark.”

He sat, drawing his legs up to rest his arms on them, still listening, then said, “But I did not know it had words.”

“It is a lament. Forgive me if I am wrong, but I do not see most drow as given to lamentation.”

“No, in general we are not.”

They looked back towards the singer, and her song of love lost by misunderstanding and anger. “Sometimes, that might not be so bad,” Demin remarked softly. “Too much lamenting can tear at the soul.”

Solaufein considered this as the singer moved into the final verse, her subject pained but wiser. “But it is a sort of contemplation, is it not? Reflecting on a loss? There is precious little reflection to be found in the Underdark.”

“You find that a failing of your people.”

“I do not have to tell you that my people have many failings, Whiteleaf.”

“And that is why you are here?”

“Yes.” He stared sightlessly towards the fire.

“Then I hope you can forgive the failings of _my_ people.” She smiled suddenly. “And now look at how gloomy we have become.” She cast an inquiring eye towards the cup in his hand. “Does your drink require freshening?”

“I would not ask you t-”

“Nonsense.” She snatched the vessel in question from him and stood with a smile. “I shall return momentarily.”

He watched her weave along the bonfire, smiling and chatting briefly with those she passed. _We are not equal_ , he had told her the night of Irenicus’s defeat. But if she carried on treating him as if they were, he found he might almost be able to believe it. And that was not as foreign a thought as once it had been.

Hours later, they slowly ascended the trees back towards her home, and the temple. Demin rubbed her eyes. “Perhaps I am not as well suited for this sort of dissipation as I was once. I am exhausted.”

“I would think the amount of cider you drank did not help,” he pointed out, feeling pedantic, and she made a face at him.

“Cider always helps,” she retorted. They reached the walkway juncture where their paths diverged, and she stopped, smiling at him. “I am glad you accompanied me this evening, Solaufein. Did you enjoy yourself?”

“I did. It was a terrible shame about the company, however.”

She shook her head and sighed. “I must secretly despise myself, putting up with your attempts at humor.”

He chuckled, but the laugh caught in his throat as she stepped close to him, and slipped her arms around him. Three things he noticed in the first few terrible seconds before his arms reacted of their own accord to return the embrace: first, that the difference between their heights was such that her head rested perfectly against his throat; second, that he could smell the scent of woodsmoke and leaves in her hair; and third, that the night was just cool enough that the warmth of her was very pleasant indeed.

She smiled as she stepped away, unaware, it seemed, of the total and absolute confusion she had just caused. “Good night, Solaufein.”

“Good night, Whiteleaf,” he said quickly, and turned for the temple, making a point not to look back.

⁂⁂⁂

He did not see her again for the better part of a tenday. It seemed that the aftermath of any major holy day was just as time-consuming as the days preceding it, and that was not such a bad thing, he thought, because the remembered sensation of her arms around him was almost intolerably distracting. He knew that, on the surface, friends embraced - he had seen it himself on multiple occasions. Such physical contact had only as much meaning as the parties involved chose to give it. It was a system that could, in his opinion, lead to a great deal of trouble under the right circumstances, but who was he to judge their bizarre mores? But those were rules between surfacers. He dared not expect them to apply to him, and it worried him that she seemed to think they did. 

That was why the sight of her exiting the palace that afternoon set alarm bells clanging in his mind. Kirlin, with whom he had been conversing, proved completely worthless as a shield, choosing that moment to glance up at the sky, say, "I should head back to the barracks. I'll see you later, Solaufein," and leave him to face the Whiteleaf alone.

"Solaufein! Good afternoon."

He nodded, and half-bowed courteously. Best to re-establish his place. "Whiteleaf. Do you return to the temple?"

"Actually, my object is deeper in the city. I have an errand at the Weavers' Guild." She extended a hand, gesturing past the court platform towards the lower levels of the city. "Will you accompany me?"

He was walking in step with her before he realized it, and sighed to himself. This was getting out of hand. Demin did not seem to notice. She was in high spirits, and stopped before they had descended the main stair to gaze up at the sky. "There is a certain shade of blue one only sees in the autumn sky," she said. "I do believe it is my favorite color."

He tried to look up without actually moving his head. He had found that catching glimpses of the sky in that manner did not leave him with the stomach spinning feeling of vertigo that looking up directly did. While the blue of the sky was, indeed, beautiful in an aesthetic sense, he could still feel that awkward, off-kilter sensation and returned his eyes to what was in front of him.

"I'm sorry," Demin said softly. She had that faintly sympathetic smile on her face again. "Sometimes I forget."

Now was as good a time as any. "You should not, Whiteleaf."

She looked almost hurt. "I have already apolo-"

"I did not mean _that_ ," he said, pointing upward. Her brow creased in confusion, and he explained. "Lately, it seems you have begun to forget that we are more different than mere external appearance."

She narrowed her eyes crossly. "I am _very_ cognizant of that. Our every interaction reminds me daily that you come from a people who do not relate to one another even remotely as mine do, and that you struggle to acclimate when a lifetime's experience tells you we are all fools and madmen." Her face softened, and she stepped closer. Close enough that her hair, caught by an errant breeze, brushed his face. "If I occasionally forget that the open sky gives you unease, or that the wind sometimes confuses your hearing...it is because you are very convincing at appearing otherwise."

He eyed his feet morosely. “I can acclimate, yes, but I cannot change what I am. I will never be just another elf. It does no good for you try and treat me so. It will only end poorly.”

“Now who martyrs themselves needlessly?” she murmured. He looked up, stung, but pleasantly so. She had landed a fair hit, and he could not help but appreciate it. “If we are friends, then that is what we are, and I will not hold you to a different standard. It would not be right.”

Her arms were crossed, and one look into her green eyes told him he was treading on the edges of a battle that could only end in an ugly, protracted siege against defenses he could not hope to weaken. There would be other battles, fought on ground of his own choosing, and he would content himself to those. "I am sorry. I should not chide you for being a good friend."

"Friend is a word with rather different connotations in the Underdark, though, isn't it?"

"Yes. And it would never be applied to a female." She snorted with ironic good humor, and he had to smile. "I must ask, though…why? You have much to lose and little to gain in continuing our friendship."

She cocked her head. “How is knowing you a little gain?” With that, she began to walk again, and he watched her for a moment, the sense of bafflement that had, by now, become his constant companion bubbling up within him. He would never make sense of her, he decided as he hurried to catch up. He would just have to resign himself to that.

He followed her along a long downward path that wound sharply around more than one trunk. "A back way," she explained with a smile. "Most prefer the court way because it is broader and less steep, but this is faster for reaching the guildhalls." He thought about telling her he had discovered it in his summer explorations, but decided to let her play guide if it pleased her.

The dryness of the autumn leaves had only increased the ever-present rustle that he had slowly become accustomed to in Suldanessellar. But as they walked, he became aware of another sound, one of movement that seemed to track with their steps. Reflex sent him reaching into his sleeve to reassure himself of the knife he kept there; he still did not arm himself openly, but he was not a fool, after all. It was paranoia, he thought to himself, old habit best left to die in the Underdark, but then he looked at Demin and noted the stillness of her carriage. She had noticed too.

“You hear it?” he whispered. She nodded.

“Something isn’t right,” she murmured. She closed her eyes, her lips moving, and when she reopened them, they were a glassy white. A spell of seeing, he realized. She looked directly at him. “Behind you,” she hissed. “Duck.”

He threw himself forward, wrenching the knife free. He could feel the passage of air behind him; their attackers had chosen invisibility. Demin raised her hand, the holy symbol at her throat glowing. “Show yourself!” she commanded, and the field was suddenly much more level.

There were four of them, humans likely, to judge by their build, but their hoods and masks obscured their features. Professionals, then. Or at least what passed for professional on the surface. Solaufein dodged a quick, sharp stab, swinging his off hand, balled into a fist, towards the nearest assassin’s body. The blow was a feint, not intended to do damage, but to test, and his supposition had proven correct. There was hardened leather under the cloth. _But you can_ _’t armor everything_ , he thought, and ducked low, bringing his dagger in parallel to the walk and driving it behind the assassin’s knee. He pulled the blade free, ignoring the howl of agony, and plowed his shoulder into the center of the man’s chest, tipping him over the railing. He wasted no time on watching the assassin’s descent; he turned quickly to make sure Demin did not need his aid. It struck him that that was ultimately unnecessary.

Another of the assassins was already dead at her feet, victim of the glowing cudgel she wielded. The faithful were never truly unarmed, he realized. But it was only fair to help her nonetheless. The third assassin launched himself towards Solaufein, long knives in each hand. Solaufein countered with a slice at his midsection, not intended to harm, but to back him towards Demin, who pointed at the fourth with her free hand, her holy symbol flaring again, and cried, “Stop!” He toppled forward as his legs locked, and she stepped over him without another glance, cudgel raised as Solaufein forced his opponent back another step. She cracked him cleanly across the back of the head, and he collapsed in a nerveless heap.

As one, they looked down at their fallen attackers, and then at each other as running feet signaled the approach of the guard. “I am out of practice,” Demin panted. “I should not be so winded.”

“You acquitted yourself quite well, Whiteleaf,” Solaufein said, smiling as he cleaned his dagger and returned it to its sheath. “I daily thank the Lady that you stayed your hand that first night. Or else I would have found myself like these poor clods.” He nudged the brained assassin at his feet. She giggled suddenly, and there was a note of near hysteria in the laugh. He peered at her in concern. “Are you alright? 

Demin leaned back against the railing, laughing helplessly. She pressed a hand to her chest, still catching her breath. "No, no, I am fine. It's only...no one's ever tried to assassinate me before!"

"Really?" Solaufein blinked in mild surprise. "Well, now you can say that you have truly lived."

“Whiteleaf!” The most senior of the trio of guardsman skidded to a stop before them, eyes wide at the sight of them. “What happened here?”

Demin took a deep breath, composing herself. “We were attacked,” she said with calm authority. Glancing towards the held assassin, she added, “This one is still alive. I would suggest taking him to General Elhan. I would be very interested to know the reason for this.”

“Of course.” More guards were arriving, and Solaufein could feel curious eyes from the walks above and across. This was not a heavily used portion of the city, but the noise had obviously drawn attention. He straightened his shoulders and winced at a sudden stitch in his side. Demin noticed, naturally.

“Are you wounded?” she asked, patting at his torso professionally. When her hand touched his waist, just above the hipbone, he gritted his teeth and saw blood on her fingers.

“I didn’t even notice,” he murmured.

“It’s shallow,” she remarked, bending slightly to examine the cut more closely, pressing her hand to his side. She met his eyes, uneasiness creeping into her gaze. “We were both very fortunate, you know. That could have ended very differently.”

He covered her glowing hand with his own. “But it did not. We prevailed.” She nodded, and withdrew her hand from beneath his.

“There.” She looked upwards, towards the palace. “I believe my errand can wait. We should probably speak with Ellesime.”

⁂⁂⁂

Ellesime sat very still behind her desk, her face pale and lips tight. “What madness has come here?” she whispered. She rested her fingertips against her forehead. “I cannot even fathom this.”

Solaufein paused in his pacing about the edges of the room. “I understand it is unpleasant, but you know whom you must question, Your Majesty.”

The Queen simply sighed with resignation, and Demin turned in her seat, looking at Solaufein with distress in her eyes. “But if Favelien wanted me dead, surely he would have no need to hire outsiders.”

He spread his hands. “That would be as good a reason as any to do so. A deflection of suspicion.”

“That makes absolutely no sense.”

“To you perhaps, but you would never resort to having others do your dirty work in the first place.”

The door opened, and General Elhan entered, latching it carefully behind himself. “I am afraid one avenue of enquiry is closed to us. The one you left alive apparently resented your mercy and chose to rectify the situation. The guard neglected to check his mouth.”

“A poison tooth?” Solaufein asked. The general nodded. “They were more professional than I had credited them.”

“I care for their professionalism only so far as it worries me,” Ellesime stated flatly. She looked at Demin. “Coming on the heels of your Transformation homily last week, I cannot overlook the timing of this attack.” She straightened her shoulders, her features grown still and cool. “General, please inform the Master of the Collegium that I would speak with him directly.”

“But Elles-” Demin began. The Queen silenced her with a lift of one golden eyebrow.

“Immediately, Majesty,” Elhan replied, bowing. “Where do you wish him brought?”

“Here. I have questions, not accusations.”

“Not yet,” Solaufein murmured into his fist. Ellesime shot him a pointed glance.

“You may remain, Solaufein, but only at my pleasure,” she said. “And you will behave yourself.” He inclined his head, and she returned her eyes to Demin. “You, Whiteleaf, will be conducted home immediately.”

Demin’s mouth opened with shock. “I am more than capable of-”

“You could have died, Demin!” Ellesime’s voice, normally so mild and sweet, cracked across the room like a whip. Solaufein flinched instinctively, Elhan glanced awkwardly at the floor, and Demin met her friend’s eyes, both touched and angered by the distress she saw in them. “You are capable, yes, but I will not risk your life,” the Queen said, more softly. “Allow me some bit of caution.” Demin’s head dropped, and Ellesime folded her hands in front of her on her desk. “I believe you all have instruction.”

⁂⁂⁂

The next morning, Demin retreated to her office as soon as she could manage it, and attempted to distract herself with her daily correspondence, but her thoughts refused to remain on anything as prosaic as routine. It was all so completely, ridiculously surreal. An assassination attempt, in the daylight, of all things! She would not lie and say that the idea of it was not unnerving, but to be more to the point, it was infuriating. How dare they (whoever ‘they’ were)? Suldanessellar was supposed to be safe! It was supposed to be peaceful! Should they all just move to Athkatla or Calimport now and save themselves the trouble of attempting to be civilized?

The throbbing beginnings of a headache had set up shop behind her eyes, and she put her head in her hands, trying to decide if she should take some tonic for it now, or just suffer with it. A sharp rap at the door interrupted her deliberations, and she looked up to see Latiel, her eyes hard, turn on her heel without a word and vanish from the doorway. She wondered for a split second what could have possibly perturbed the Oakheart so, but then Solaufein entered, and she understood.

“Whiteleaf,” he said quietly, taking the seat opposite her. “I apologize for leaving you in ignorance of the fruits of the Queen’s conversation with Master Favelien until now. There was much to process.”

“The Queen’s conversation?” she repeated. “So you did behave yourself, then.”

“I did not wish to give her cause to send me away, so I held my tongue.”

“That must have been difficult for you.”

He almost smiled. “He is very unpleasant. It was.”

She glanced down at the cluttered surface of her desk. “He didn’t have anything to do with it, did he?”

“He has no great fondness for you, and found your…confession during the Transformation to be self-aggrandizing. Though it warmed many opinions, his was not among them. If anything, I think that he now resents the ease with which you stole back your thunder.” She chuckled, wearily and without humor, and he added, “But no. I do not believe he wishes you dead.”

“Then who does?”

“I am unsure. It is my opinion, and the Queen agrees, that if he personally did not contract out your life, then perhaps one of his more rabid associates might have. Someone seeking his approval, and subsequently trying too hard.” He shrugged. “It is a common enough mistake of sycophants.”

Demin covered her face with her hands. “By the Oak, Solaufein, this is madness. How does one even react to this?” When she moved her fingers, she noticed him watching her with the now familiar look of confusion. “What?”

“Apparently, it is my turn to forget,” he said, giving her one of his insouciant half smiles. “You are usually so undaunted. I forget that you are not accustomed to following these avenues of thought.”

“I suppose it is a compliment that I would not make a good drow, then.”

“No, you would not. You are far too kind.”

She sighed, and without thinking, reached across her desk, hand extended, and he leaned forward to take it, without any apparent thought on his part either. His hand was very comfortably warm; she had noticed it before, and it would seem, the healer in her opined, that drow body temperature was typically warmer than that of surface elves. His brow knit. “Your hand is cold.” He stood, taking both of her hands between his, and rubbing them gently. She chuckled again.

“It is the season, Solaufein; my hands likely will not be warm again until spring.”

He snorted, marking her statement as another of the patent absurdities of the surface, and continued rubbing. Apparently unsatisfied with his progress, he bent, and lifted their hands towards his lips, breathing warmly on her fingers. A shiver that danced down her spine, one completely unrelated to temperature, and her breath caught in her throat. She looked at him, suddenly uncertain. Something in the air had changed, right in that instant, and maddeningly, she could not say for certain what it is was, or how. She met his eyes, and in them she could see a similar spark of realization. They stared at each other for a long, silent moment, but each was spared the choice of having to be the first to move by the sound of a throat clearing.

Latiel stood at the door. Her face was neutral, but her eyes had not softened, and from her vantage, she could not fail to see the drow clasping the hands of her superior. “I do not mean to interrupt,” she said, in a tone that belied her words, “but Acolyte Amaris is here to see you, Whiteleaf.”

Solaufein released her hands, but his gaze remained fixed on her. “I should not keep you from your duties,” he said softly. “I will call on you later.”

“I look forward to it,” Demin replied.

When he had gone, she looked at Latiel, expecting a rebuke, but there was none. Her aide showed in the young acolyte, and withdrew. The silence was worse.

⁂⁂⁂

Solaufein reclined on his bed that evening, trying to focus on his book. It really was a very interesting work, being a collection of human adventure tales, though the theme of betrayal by one’s fellows being a plot twist had quickly grown tiresome. Humans seemed just as capable of the act as drow, but they appeared almost pathologically determined to view it as unnatural. He set the book aside, exhaling heavily. He could try to distract himself, but it was not working. These were waters more unfamiliar than any he had yet encountered, and the last thing he needed now was to be caught in an undertow.

The knock at the door had a deferential quality, and he sighed. “It isn’t locked, Kirlin.”

“How did you know it was me?” the young captain asked.

“For one, your knock. And for another…you’re the only person who comes ever comes up here.”

Kirlin was the picture of astonishment. “Not even Whiteleaf Demin?”

“No.” _No, Eilistraee be praised, there are still **some** boundaries_. The undercurrent was tugging at his ankle, and he hastened to change the subject. “Was there something you wished from me?”

Kirlin shrugged. “Just wanted to talk. There have been a lot of rumors flying around since yesterday. It’s been hard to keep a handle on them. 

“I’m not sure what I could tell you that would help,” Solaufein said. “Four human assassins, all dead, and nothing to point directly to their employer. There is no obvious track, so we must search out the fainter traces. Normally, I would enjoy the challenge, but this is…frustrating.”

“Because of the Whiteleaf,” Kirlin sympathized. Solaufein glared.

“Why would you say that?”

“Because she’s your friend!” the younger male said quickly, raising his hands in a pacifying gesture. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I know better than to put any stock in _those_ rumors.” Ah yes, _those_ rumors. Unhelpfully, his mind provided him with the memory of her hand in his, bare inches from his lips. Solaufein’s stomach felt sour, and his expression obviously reflected it, because Kirlin asked, with great and false indifference, “Interesting book?”

“Human stories,” Solaufein replied, tossing the volume to him. “Some are more interesting than others.”

Kirlin flipped through the pages. “I’m not as familiar with human literature as I should be. It’s one of those things I keep telling myself I’ll catch up on.” He closed the book. “I suppose I should go. Good night, Solaufein.”

The captain had been gone several minutes when Solaufein realized he must have carried off the book with him. Sighing with irritation, he debated going after him, and was about to dismiss the idea as too much trouble when he heard a noise at the door. “So you rememb-”

A light bloomed from the doorway, blindingly bright. He caught a glimpse of a figure, an outline only, before his vision faded to a useless red blur, his eyes tearing in a fruitless attempt to soothe the sudden agony. He could still hear the intruder, and he knew it was four strides to the door from where he stood. _One, two_ – he swung, and his fist connected, but the blow glanced. Still he knew where the fool was; they walked too heavily and breathed too hard to truly conceal themselves. He swung again-

A murmur of words, the voice too soft to be recognized, and his muscles locked. He collapsed to the floor, and unable to control his fall, his head clipped the edge of the bed. If he had not been already blinded, he would have seen stars.

A holding spell was not like paralysis. The body simply did not respond to the mind’s demands for movement. It was not that the nerves were dead, they were shut behind a locked door.

That was why he could still feel the knife.


	6. A Marked Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I would have been lost here, if not for you."_

There was someone at the door.

There was desperation in the knocking, and fear. Demin had been upstairs when it began, and her first reaction, the one she could not help but act upon, was to tear down the steps with dread in the pit of her stomach. No one knocked like that unless something was very wrong. It seemed to take far too long to wrench open the door, and for an instant, she wondered if she should be more cautious. Her assassination had been attempted just the day before, and neither Ellesime nor Solaufein would approve of her taking chances –

Every thought dissolved as the door swung open.

Captain Kirlin stood there, his heavy breath steaming white in the cold night air. He was hunched, leaning to support the weight of the shorter, darker male beside him, whose arm was flung across his shoulders, and whose head rolled loosely. There was blood on Kirlin’s surcote and hands, but for some reason, the blood dying dark red streaks in Solaufein’s white hair was worse.

She forced her voice past the sudden and inexplicable lump in her throat. “Kirlin,” she whispered, “what happened?”

“I…I don’t know, Whiteleaf,” he panted, a wash of panic overlying every word. “I forgot his book, so I brought it back, and I found him like this, and I…I brought him to you because I didn’t know what else to do.”

His eyes were bright with fear, and Demin found herself touched by the young male’s loyalty. She forced calm into her chest with a deep breath. She needed steel now. “Bring him inside.”

⁂⁂⁂

There were hands moving him, the touch gentle but firm, long accustomed to maneuvering the unconscious, and Solaufein knew before he opened his eyes that they were Demin’s. Each sense seemed to return at a different pace, and when hearing reengaged, he knew he had been correct.

“-did well, Kirlin,” she was saying. “You stopped the bleeding, at least. That saved his life.” The young ranger spoke too quietly to make sense of his response, but there was a distinct note of abashed pride in his tone. “You can go now, if you like,” Demin said in reply. “I understand the Queen wants to hear your report of this incident from your own lips.” And from what seemed to Solaufein to be miles away, a door opened and closed.

His head felt as light as a bubble, and yet it took a surprising amount of effort to move it. His eyes did not want to open, but he forced them to anyway. Demin knelt beside the low bed he lay in, gazing down at him, one eyebrow arched ever so slightly. But something wasn’t right. “Finally awake, I see,” she said softly. Her voice seemed strained. “It’s impolite to keep your healer waiting, you know.”

“…always been difficult, I ‘spose,” he said, slurring woozily on the words.

He was expecting at least a hint of a smile, but her expression did not change. “You should thank your goddess for Captain Kirlin’s forgetfulness. Had he not carried off that book, he would have had no cause to return to your room, and he would not have found you.” Her lips pursed to a thin line. “You lost a great deal of blood.”

Something was definitely wrong. His eyes were still bleary, but the longer he looked at her, the more detail he noticed. Her green eyes were bloodshot, and there was an odd shimmer on her cheeks in the candlelight. Oh, no. No, she hadn’t. He had promised her she wouldn’t have to. With a monumental effort, he managed to raise his hand, and haltingly touched her face before letting it fall to the coverlet again. She started, then tilted her head, looking to him for explanation. He worked his uncooperative tongue, trying to force coherence into his voice. “I’m sorry,” he managed, his voice a hoarse murmur. “I made you a promise, and I couldn’t keep my word.” Exhaustion washed over him, and his eyes sagged shut. “I’m sorry, Demin.”

There was a long silence, then fingertips brushed his face, and he opened his eyes again as her palm rested against his cheek. “This was not your doing, Solaufein,” she whispered. “You didn’t break your promise. Someone else did.”

Her chin trembled, and her eyes were growing wet. No, no, no. “Please don’t cry,” he breathed. Turning his head a degree, he pressed his lips to the heel of her hand, at the base of her thumb. He heard a quick inhalation, and then her fingers, so blessedly cool against his skin, withdrew.

Standing, she turned for the door. “Ellesime wanted to know when you had woken, so I imagine she will wish to speak with you once you have rested.” She paused in the doorway. “I will look in on you in a few hours.”

She shut the door behind her, steadying herself. There had been so many wounds, and she had expended more energy than she cared to dwell on in the process of sorting through the injuries, from most threatening to superficial. His heart had been nicked a hairsbreadth from the juncture of the aorta, his left lung had collapsed and his right had been half-filled with fluid. She had lost count of the number of blood vessels severed, and muscles torn. The damage had been savage, and angry, and the sheer viciousness of it chilled her. There had been hate behind the hand that wielded that knife. Whoever had done this had wanted him to suffer, to die slowly, to bleed to death alone on the cold floor.

She stiffened angrily at the thought. They would regret that. It was one thing to kill in battle, but murder was another matter entirely. And whoever had plunged that knife into Solaufein’s back would most assuredly regret what they had done. She would see to it.

Rillifane help her, he had called her by name.

She shook off the thought and crossed the stairhall to the sitting room, where Ellesime sat in her best armchair, giving an obviously overwhelmed Kirlin her rapt attention. Demin tapped gently on the doorframe, and the Queen glanced towards her. “Ah, Demin. He is awake?”

“He has regained consciousness, but he is resting. The body must have time to recover after enduring a trauma of that magnitude.”

“Of course.” Ellesime looked back at Kirlin. “Captain, was there anything else?”

“Uh, no, Your Majesty. I-I believe that was everything.”

She extended her hand. “Then you are free to go. I may call upon you to recount this again at another time, but not tonight. I thank you, Captain. You have saved a life, and rendered a friend great service. It was well done.”

Kirlin took her hand and bowed over it. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

When the front door had closed behind him, Ellesime stood sharply. “I am _sickened_ , Demin. This is unacceptable.”

Demin leaned against the doorframe. “You will find no argument here.”

Ellesime paced before the hearth. The fire, which Demin had banked before Kirlin’s appearance at her door in preparation for bed, had been rekindled and crackled with an insufferable merriness. “Corellon’s mercy, Demin, sit. It is your house, after all.” Demin sank into a chair, and watched her friend make a circuit of the room. “Did he say anything about the attack?” Ellesime asked.

“I did not ask. He was…not at his most lucid.” _I couldn_ _’t keep my word. I_ _’m sorry, Demin._

“In truth, I am not sure what he will be able to tell us,” Ellesime said, pausing to gaze out the window. “The young Captain said he felt a distinct presence of magic in the room. Some manner of spell may have been used to incapacitate him. I will send someone from the Collegium to investigate. And before you ask if that is wise, Favelien knows he must watch himself. I have secured his good behavior for now.” She turned back, her flash of anger burned out, leaving only empathy in its wake. "You look exhausted. You should rest. Elhan has the house under guard."

"Under guard," Demin repeated dully. "By the Oak, Ellesime, what have we come to?"

"A darkened thicket," replied the Queen. "But we will find our way out." She patted Demin's shoulder gently. “We could use some tea, I think. Do you still keep the tea things in the same place?”

“Why would I move them?”

“It was a legitimate question,” Ellesime chided gently. She headed for the kitchen, leaving Demin to sit in silence, hands folded, staring into the fire. Tears spilled uselessly down her cheeks.

 _Please don_ _’t cry._

 _I_ _’m sorry, Solaufein. I can_ _’t help it._

⁂⁂⁂

Waking came slowly, and Solaufein pushed his way out of sleep as through a curtained door. His chest ached vaguely and he was almost unnaturally hungry, but beyond that, all seemed in working order. He blinked hard, his eyes dry and uncooperative, and the only way to convince them to stay open was to take stock of his surroundings. He did not recognize the room. It was fair sized, and attractively but somewhat sparsely furnished. It lacked a personal touch – it was not lived in, but was a place for guests. The door stood half open, and through it, he saw a hallway, and the edge of a familiar banister. He was in Demin’s house. How had he gotten here?

A movement at the door brought an end to his musing. Demin entered the room, bearing a tray, and the scent of warm bread filled the room. He felt himself salivate as if he had not eaten in a week. He sat up, the coverlet slipping, and he realized he was not currently wearing a shirt. Or trousers. It made sense, of course, but he felt his face heat, and wondered why. He had never been self-conscious about being shirtless before.

His momentary consternation must have been obvious, because her mouth curved slightly as she set down the tray and rolled up her sleeves. "I've been a healer more than half my life, you know. You don't have anything I haven't seen before." He rolled his eyes at her, and the curve became a smile. She looked far more at ease this morning (or was it afternoon? He still hadn't gotten the hang of reading the angle of the sun), and he was glad of it. He remembered how tense and anxious she had appeared the night before, and suddenly another memory struck him, one that left his face so hot he was surprised he did not spontaneously combust.

"I, uh...I recall that I took something of a liberty last night," he said, subjecting the coverlet to a firm scrutiny.

The bed shifted under her weight as she sat on the edge near his legs. He dared to look at her, and was relieved to see her still smiling. "You had just regained consciousness after the healing of an extremely grievous wound," she said. "The body can be overwhelmed by such an experience. I have seen many, very extreme reactions in my time, and…believe me, a kiss on the hand is quite mild."

"I suppose I lacked the strength to attempt to ravish you," he joked weakly. She chuckled, but the color in her cheeks was changing, growing steadily pinker. He was taken aback – he had witnessed other fair-skinned surfacers blush before, but never her. It was a surprisingly appealing color. He forged ahead, dropping his eyes once more. "There was another liberty," he said, "one that I would like to keep, if I may." He swallowed, and tried the word out carefully, looking up to watch her reaction. "Demin."

He was almost disappointed to see the blush fade, but the small, pleased smile that replaced it was reassuring. "It does seem somewhat foolish that we have been friends these months and the topic was never raised,” she replied softly. “Were you waiting for my permission?"

"Perhaps. I am not sure. You do not mind?"

"Not at all." She smiled at him for a moment, then glanced down, clearing her throat. When she raised her head, there was a subtle shift in her features, and he recognized it as her healer's face. She raised her hand to touch his forehead. "You do not appear to be running a fever, though it is difficult to be sure. It makes a certain sense that drow would maintain a warmer body temperature than those of us from the surface, but it still proves something of a challenge." She gave him a stern look. "And if you make a joke about being hot blooded, I will throw you bodily out of this house in your underwear."

He hadn't planned on any such joke, but it felt good to have something like normality restored to their interaction. "How cruel," he said mildly. "It's cold outside."

"Precisely," she said. She pressed her hand flat to his chest, just below the right pectoral, and closed her eyes. "Take a deep breath." He did so in obedience, and she moved her hand to the opposite side. "And again." This time, he felt a catch and coughed. "I was afraid of that," she said. "It would appear that I did not wholly repair this lung last night."

He watched her face as her hand began to glow. A tranquil concentration spread over her face whenever she worked her healing. The corners of her mouth relaxed in an expression that was not a smile, but more a look of peace, one that seemed to move through her from within. No Handmaiden had ever exuded that sort of restrained joy in the act of healing, and therein laid the difference. Where Lolth’s priestesses found their fulfillment in anguish, Rillifane’s beloved took delight in making others whole. Solaufein had always thought her attractive enough, for a pale surfacer, but he realized that, in moments like this, touched by the grace of her god, she was beautiful. There was no other word better suited.

Her eyes opened. "What is it?" she asked.

"I am suddenly very conscious of how fortunate I am to know you, and to have you as a friend and ally here on the surface,” he said softly. “You have been…” He floundered for the words. Suddenly, the concept wasn’t translating properly in his mind. “You have been like a _zith_ _’ist_.”

She gave him an odd look. “Are you calling me names again?”

“No,” he said, with a small chuckle. “A _zith_ _’ist_ is a marked stone, one placed to show travelers the safest way on treacherous paths in the depths. They are a necessity. Without them, even the most seasoned journeyer can go astray and never be seen again. And since I have come here…you have pointed my direction. I would have been lost here, if not for you.”

She blinked, and she began to flush again, a soft, warm pink spreading across her cheeks. It was one of so many colors he had never seen before he had come to the surface. Like the autumn sky she loved so much, or the exact shade of green in her eyes.

She hadn’t moved her hand, and he found he did not want to draw her attention to it. But she glanced down, and with a slight cough, said, “Breathe deep again, please.” He did, and there was no pain. She gave a satisfied nod. “Well healed, it seems. Good.” Her eyes returned to his face. Her hand still unmoving, she watched him intently, as if looking for something. His fingers closed on her forearm; he didn’t know why. But that wasn’t true, because he did know. He wanted her to put her arms around him again, as she had the night of the Transformation. What would it feel like, he wondered, to be so near to her, for longer than a few seconds?

"Demin,” he murmured, “I-"

"I’m sorry," she said, standing quickly. "Your breakfast is getting cold." She handed him the tray almost brusquely. “And I should go to the palace and speak with Ellesime. I’m sure much as been gleaned since last night.” She hastened for the door. “I shouldn’t be gone long. Rest a while longer. I see no reason why you shouldn’t be able to leave in a few hours." 

Something was happening, something was changing. Or maybe it had already changed. It was obvious she could no more ignore it than he. He leaned back, staring at the ceiling, and counted to twenty, first in Drow, then in Elvish, then in Common. He wasn’t hungry any more.

⁂⁂⁂

She didn’t go directly to the palace. She couldn’t. The air had been too still in the sickroom, the atmosphere too closed. She hoped that the crisp autumn day would help clear her head, and it had somewhat, but not enough. Sense had, it seemed, flung itself from the highest branch it could find, and it had yet to strike bottom. The memory of his eyes lingered in her mind, fixed upon her, lit with a warmth that caught her breath -

She shook her head. Just as his odd behavior could be easily explained by physical trauma, so could hers. Exhaustion and worry had her off-balance and quick to startle. And prone to seeing things she shouldn’t. She sighed, and wrapped her arms tighter around herself as the wind picked up. In her younger days on the road, she had seen, and healed, worse and it had not shaken her so. But that was the road, and the Life, and she had come to expect different of Suldanessellar. She allowed herself a half smile. Well, if the Life was returning to her, the least she could do was face it with her head up. She had loved it once, and old lovers should always be met with dignity. She turned, and ascended the steps to the palace.

Naren stood guard outside Ellesime’s office, that day paired with a young male whose face was almost distractingly familiar but whose name she could not remember. “Whiteleaf,” he said quietly as she made for the door handle, “we heard about what happened to Solaufein.” Ah, so he was another of Kirlin’s set, then.

“Is he all right?” Naren asked.

“You should not be carrying tales,” Demin cautioned firmly. “And your captain should better guard his tongue.” She lowered her voice. “But he is recovering.”

The soldiers exchanged a relieved look, and Naren turned to knock on the door and announce Demin’s presence. Passing through the open door, she saw Ellesime sitting at her desk, shaking sand over a freshly written page. The Queen looked up.

“And how is the patient?”

“He will likely be tired and hungry for the remainder of the day, and thus more charming than usual, but his wounds have healed.” She couldn’t bring herself to mention that ‘charming’ was, in actual fact, an understatement of the most profound degree. Her standards for what constituted charming were grossly out of alignment at the moment, anyway.

“I am glad to hear it,” Ellesime smiled. Demin waited for her to continue, but she looked back at her papers and began to write again.

“I did not come here solely to report on Solaufein’s health,” Demin said, her brow furrowing. “I was hoping some intelligence had been gained regarding the attack last night.”

“And some has.” Ellesime did not look up.

“Were you not planning to share that with me?”

Ellesime’s pen slowly came to a halt on the page, and she carefully replaced it in its stand before looking up again. “I was not.”

Demin stared, uncomprehending. “What?”

Ellesime sighed, a short, unhappy sound. “I cannot look upon this matter and fail to see how it reflects on you, Demin. You wept last night; not just for a friend’s wounds, but because you were wounded yourself. And it seems clear to me that his attacker sought that end as well as his life. I will not ignore the very distinct possibility that what happened last night, and the assassination attempt on you the day previous, are linked. And if that is the case, I will not have you involved in this any further. Go about your duties and your life and leave the resolution of it to General Elhan and myself.”

A slap across the face would have been less shocking. “Ellesime…you have never kept me from your counsel before.”

The Queen’s voice was clipped. “Outsiders were brought here to assassinate the highest priestess of Rillifane. The next night, a nearly mortal attack is made on one widely known to be that same priestess’s dear friend, _in the Leaflord_ _’s temple_. What would you have me do?!”

Stung, Demin laced her fingers together, trying to stop the shaking. “Do you blame me?” she whispered. “Do you believe I have provoked this violence?”

Ellesime’s mouth opened slightly, and as she closed it, her features softened. She stood, and approached Demin, her hands outstretched. “Oh, Demin, no,” she murmured, taking Demin’s hands in her own. “None of this is your making. Others have sunk themselves in vengeance and vindictiveness. Not you. And I must plumb those depths if I am to set this right, but I cannot allow you to join me. Not if you are its target. Do you understand, dearest?” Demin nodded numbly.

“But I do not like it.”

“And I do not blame you. I would not expect you to.” Ellesime gave her hands a squeeze before releasing them and returning to her desk. Demin watched her for a moment, then bowed her head and departed with a half-hearted farewell.

She felt ill. She was so hurt, so confused, so afraid, so _enraged_ , that she felt she could not draw a whole breath. The very planes themselves seemed to be spinning out of control; some drunken titan was using them for a toy. All she wanted was for something like reason to reestablish itself, and reclaim them all from this vortex, but she knew that would not happen without some guiding hand on the events. And that hand was Ellesime’s. The Queen had made her position on Demin’s role in the affair quite clear, and she would have to abide by that.

For now, at least.

She knew she should go to the temple, and try to salvage what remained of her day. She had already foregone the morning worship, which would likely set worried tongues to wagging, and what had happened the night before was obviously a poorly kept secret at best. She ought to go, and be the leader she was expected to be. But at the moment, all she wanted to do was go home and wallow in her misery. It felt a selfish thing to do, but by the gods, was she not selfless often enough? She resolutely turned her steps back towards her house.

Solaufein was up, dressed, and reading a book in the sitting room when she entered. “You have the loudest door lock I have ever heard,” he said calmly as he turned a page.

“It is my house and my lock and they do not offend me,” she retorted. It struck her, as it still did on occasion, how utterly absurd it all was – a drow in her home, in her confidence. It was practically surreal, and she wanted to laugh, but it simply wasn’t there. She settled for a sigh. Solaufein cocked his head.

“What news from the Queen?”

“None that I am meant to hear.” Demin hung up her cloak and sat.

“What does that mean?” She gave him a brief recitation of her conversation with Ellesime, and he nodded slowly. “Understandable. If…deeply infuriating.”

“I knew you would understand.” She smiled dryly, but it was too slight to have any staying power, and slipped. “You do not have to stay, Solaufein. Your wounds are healed; there is no need for you to remain if you do not wish.”

He set aside the book, nodded and stood – and stopped, looking at her thoughtfully. It was an expression eerily similar to the one he had borne that morning, and she found herself shifting awkwardly under his scrutiny. “Perhaps I should not, just yet,” he said quietly.

She shrugged, attempting indifference as a cloak for her discomfiture. “You may do as you will. You are a grown male, after all.”

“Indeed I am.” He smiled faintly, then added, soberly, “But…I cannot help but think you do not wish to be alone. Or at least…you should not.”

She felt a catch in her chest. Of all the people who could, the fact that he was the one standing in front of her offering his shoulder proved that the gods enjoyed a laugh. She stood as well, and without a word, wrapped her arms around him. He stood still in shock, as she had known he would, but only for a moment, and then he relaxed, surprising her with the strength of the returned embrace.

She supposed she had just needed to be held. And for someone who had likely had little practice with the act in his life, he was quite good at it. One hand cupped the back of her neck, holding her head gently to the side of his throat, his fingers moving absently against her hair. There was nothing to say, and no reason to try. With each breath, she felt as if the last two days was slowly loosening their grip from her heart, one finger at a time.

His hand drifted down her back, following the trail of her unbound hair, and almost simultaneously, they drew apart just far enough to look one another in the eye. He ducked his head, a lock of silver white hair falling over his eyes. Tentatively, she raised her hand to smooth it back, and that done, let her fingers brush his cheek. She could, she thought, hastily withdraw her hand, and they would step apart, abashed and overly aware of one another. It seemed the sensible thing to do, the reasonable thing.

But neither moved. Their eyes remained locked, and there was no reckoning of time that could measure how long they stood there, until his head tilted ever so slightly. She raised her face, and their lips met, falteringly at first, the first contact almost enough to drive them apart. Almost. But the uncertainty lasted only an instant, replaced by a growing and deepening confidence. Hesitation gave way to abandon, and caution to fervor, until it seemed the kiss would consume them both. 

The gods enjoyed a laugh indeed. The realization of what they were doing finally caught up with them, and they parted with a nearly supernatural haste.

“Perhaps I should go,” he muttered, not meeting her eyes.

She nodded distractedly. “That…that might be best.”

She sank onto the divan as the door closed behind him, her knees weak. She knew better than to ask how her life could possibly grow more complicated, but at the moment, she couldn’t think of any way it could.

⁂⁂⁂

Solaufein hated the surface. That was the thought that ate at him as he stalked back towards the temple. There was not a single thing about the wretched place he did not despise. He hated the trees, the wind, the sun, the wildly fluctuating temperatures, and most of all, he hated its females. 

Actually, he didn’t at all. And that was the problem.

He snuck through a back entrance of the temple, and leaned against the wall. _Maiden preserve me,_ he thought. He wanted to look over his shoulder, as if he would be able to see the exact point at which this had happened somewhere behind him. He ought to laugh at himself; he deserved it. After all, he had wanted her to embrace him again, and he’d certainly gotten what he wanted, hadn’t he? He snorted derisively. He, who thought so highly of his own observational powers, who congratulated himself on being so astute, had once again completely failed to notice what was happening in his own head. And heart.

“Hells and Abyss,” he groaned. He felt like punching the wall, but then he would have to apologize to Rillifane. He settled for skulking up to his room.

It would, of course, likely be a disaster, and he wondered glumly if having to scrub one’s own blood out of the floor might be considered an act of penance. Probably in some human religion. Those Helmites seemed an odd lot.

But when he opened the door, the place was almost frighteningly tidy. The floor was spotless, everything on the shelves was neatly stacked, and the bed was made. There was a piece of paper on the pillow, and he sighed. He could only wonder what masterwork of insults awaited him this time. He flipped open the note, but it was not at all what he had expected. 

_Some friends and I took the liberty of straightening up. You’d gotten something on the floor.  – Kirlin_

He sat on the bed with a small, wondering laugh. No, he didn’t hate the surface. He couldn't anymore, even if he wanted to.


	7. Riddles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Things are different here. You’re different.”_

There was a thin layer of frost on the windows as Demin dressed to begin her day. It would melt as the sun climbed, but winter was creeping up on autumn, bringing cold and bare branches to Suldanessellar. She found the change in weather suited her mood.

Her eyes were drawn to the front of the temple as she approached it. The turn of the seasons changed the building itself, and though she knew one must have winter in order to have spring, the temple’s winter face always struck her as somewhat forlorn. On the western side, facing towards the palace, she could see the balcony where she and Solaufein had practiced Common. She sighed. Some teacher she had proven to be. Those meetings had dwindled to nothing in the wake of her difficulties with Favelien and the coming of the autumn season.

With a faint chuckle, she shook her head. Those lessons had never truly been about improving his mastery of another language. They had been neutral ground – a place where their fledgling friendship could find its feet – and once they had found themselves reasonably comfortable with their rapport, language lessons had become unnecessary. Certainly it was not the easiest of friendships, fraught as it was with constant renegotiation of their roles and clashes of personality, but that was what she liked best about it. He challenged her, forced to explain herself, and never settled for easy answers. He was her equal, her match, and what they had forged, strange and demanding as it was, had a comforting weight and substance to it.

Or perhaps it did not, considering the havoc a single kiss had wrought.

She had barely seen him in the days since, and only in passing. There was a sting in that, even though she could not entirely say why. When they had not been on speaking terms before, she had at least had the consolation of being angry with him. Now she was not sure how she felt. It had been a moment of weakness, a moment of pleasure, but there was no reason to expect its repetition. They were both adults, after all.

But when she tried to work up some sort of scorn towards him for his avoidance, she found that well surprisingly dry. Her heart simply wasn’t in it. What she really wanted was his help. It was strange that she had known him for so short a time, and yet she had already grown accustomed to presenting him with issues that gave her trouble. He was good at puzzling things out; it was his particular gift to be able to sort through the dross and find the truth. But as every time that desire had occurred to her, she mocked herself for it. Considering he was at the center of her current confusion, what foolishness sent her wishing for him? Every time she tried to nudge her feelings closer to the subject, they shied away like a skittish horse, and she was left more frustrated with herself than anything else. There were questions there, in the haze of uncertainty, but she was not sure she was brave enough to answer them yet.

She loosened her coat as she entered the temple. Her first stop was her office, and then the sanctum for morning worship. After that where would be visits with her congregants, for consolation and celebration, whatever they needed of her. She let herself soak in the comfort of the mundane. The regularity of worship, and the fellowship of those she served were calming, when so much else seemed changed and out of her control. Here at least were answers she knew.

⁂⁂⁂

Solaufein had been waspish and surly all that morning, and Kirlin had been willing to give him the benefit of the doubt because of the cold, but he was beginning to feel his tolerance stretched, and it was an unusual feeling. The past few days, the drow had thrown himself into the new training exercises they had developed with the grim determination of one leaping from a cliff, and while Kirlin was glad for the help, his friend’s constant edginess was growing tiresome. It was plain he was distracting himself from something, but he had managed to keep all conversation so smoothly directed from personal matters that Kirlin was really rather impressed. It was frustrating, but the deftness with which Solaufein managed people was enviable in its way. Kirlin knew he would never be so good at it, no matter how many centuries he had to learn.

This day certainly, the carelessness and reticence of the training group was not helping matters. Kirlin would have assumed that being growled at by an obviously irritated drow would be reason enough to avoid sloppiness, but it seemed that notion put him in the minority. He circled the practice ring with a sigh. Some days everything came together, and others it seemed that they were all, to one degree or another, somehow off-center. This was most definitely one of the latter. Even the strikes of the practice swords seemed dissident and arrhythmic.

“Play attention to your footing, Laresien!” Solaufein snapped. “Or were you unaware even that you have feet?” Kirlin closed his eyes with exasperation. He knew that some of his superiors, as well as a certain faction of the sergeants, disapproved of the fact he allowed Solaufein to take part in training drills. General Elhan turned a blind eye, out of deference to the Queen and Whiteleaf, but if this kept up, and there were too many complaints, Kirlin knew he could find himself catching twelve kinds of hell for it. Nine for every level, and three more for the general’s displeasure.

It was with relief that he called the halt at noon, and sent the sparring partners off to the rest of their duties and out of his hair. Solaufein leaned on the rail, glaring darkly at something in the middle distance. He glanced up at Kirlin’s approach, a stormy sea of frustration lashing behind his eyes. “Disgraceful,” he pronounced. “All of them. You should consider the lash as a motivational tool.”

Kirlin’s jaw tightened contentiously. It was time to have an end to this. “I think the only person who needs it is you.” He was angling for outrage, and that was exactly what he got. Lightning flashed in Solaufein’s gaze.

“ _Excuse me_?”

“Something is bothering you, and you’ve been taking it out on everyone around you. And yourself.” Solaufein’s silence calcified, and Kirlin ticked off sins on his fingers. “You’ve been keeping ridiculous hours, it’s obvious you’re not getting enough rest, and I haven’t seen you eat in days.”  
  
“No one appointed you my caretaker, Kirlin.”  
  
The young ranger’s face darkened. “I am trying to be your friend, though gods know why. I have been your friend from the beginning and, Abyss take you, I think I have earned the right to be treated like it!” Solaufein glowered guiltily, and Kirlin sighed. “I know I’m younger than you, and less experienced in…everything. And I know you probably think I’m incredibly naïve, but maybe if you talk to me about whatever it is that is on your mind, you won’t inadvertently rip someone’s head off.”  
  
“Do you know how difficult it is to rip off a head? The spine itself is more durable than you would think, and the muscles surrounding it-”  
  
“I’ll hit you if I have to.”  
  
Solaufein exhaled heavily. Kirlin was right, of course. Only Demin had been a greater champion of his cause, and like Demin, he was putting himself up for the condemnation of others by so openly associating with him. And he was almost pathologically likable. In the Underdark, of course, someone with his patent inability to cloak his motivations would not have survived the nursery, but that made him yet another living example of just how different the surface really was. He _had_ been a friend, and he had nothing to earn even a fraction of the abuse Solaufein had heaped on him since the…incident with Demin. “Did I thank you for saving my life?” he asked quietly.

“Not as such, no.”

Solaufein nodded to himself. Of course he hadn’t. _You really are a stupendous ass, aren_ _’t you?_ “I have presumed greatly on your friendship, Kirlin. I apologize.”

The captain couldn’t keep from smiling. He really did need to learn to better control his reactions. “I accept,” he said brightly, but then his face grew more serious. “Are you ready to talk, then?”

Perhaps sharing the disorder in his mind might make it more bearable. Solaufein crossed his arms tight against his chest, feeling thoroughly bitter, and muttered, “It’s the Whiteleaf.”

“Oh.” Kirlin patted him on the shoulder sympathetically. “You know, the way you two quarrel all the time, I’d think it wouldn’t get under your skin so muc-” His eyes widened. He _was_ naïve, yes, but he was not a fool. “Wait. It wasn’t a fight, was it?” He eyed Solaufein carefully. “No, worse than that. Oh. Oh, dear.” He pursed his mouth, gathering his thoughts. “This is going to take longer than I thought. Come with me.”  
  
He led Solaufein to his small room in the officers’ barracks, producing a stoneware jug from under the bed. Sitting at the tiny corner table, Solaufein watched him pour out two cups from the jug and set it on the table. “Drink,” the captain said. “Drink until you can make some kind of sense of this.”  
  
“That will take some time, I’m afraid.”  
  
“It’s a big bottle.”  
  
Solaufein took a sip of the proffered beverage and promptly choked. “Maiden’s mercy, Kirlin, are you trying to poison me? What is this?”  
  
“Contraband.” Kirlin took an extremely small drink, wrinkling his nose. “I confiscated it from the privates’ barracks last week. They’re not very good brewers.”  
  
“Then perhaps our first toast should be to the hope we are not blinded.”  
  
Kirlin raised his cup. “Hear, hear.” He took another minute sip and asked, “What happened, Solaufein?”

Solaufein gave the contents of his cup a morose swirl. “It feels extremely juvenile even discussing it.”

“That’s what the alcohol is for.”

Hoping it would burn his tongue badly enough he could forgo speaking, Solaufein took another swig. It didn’t work. “We kissed.”

Kirlin coughed harder at that than he had from his drink. “Well. All right.” He made a visible effort to pull his jaw shut, and cleared his throat. “And, um...when did this happen?"

"The day I spent recuperating in her home." Solaufein pointedly examined his drink.

The timeline certainly made sense. "Well, uh, it can be confusing, having something, uh, physical happen between friends,” Kirlin said, circumspect in the extreme.

“How delicately put.”

“I’m trying to help,” Kirlin said crossly. “Have you spoken to her about it?”

“What purpose would that serve?”

“Oh, Solaufein. Don’t tell me you’ve been avoiding her.” Solaufein decided to respect his wishes and not tell him. Kirlin sighed. “If you think it’s juvenile just talking about it, how juvenile is it to avoid her?”

Solaufein grunted. That was a fair point. But nonetheless, he felt compelled to add, in his own defense, “I’m fairly certain the avoidance is mutual.” Kirlin looked unmoved.

“It’s just like a sword cut. The sooner you get it cleaned up, the better.” The ranger tried a gentler tack. “The past few weeks have been… chaotic. You and she have both been under a lot of stress, and stress can present itself in very odd and unexpected ways. I’m sure it’s nothing to be disturbed about.”

“I have been in the midst of coups,” Solaufein countered. “Bloodletting on a scale you likely cannot even imagine. I have seen Houses slaughter each other for the slightest scrap of influence and position, watched the Handmaidens make driders of the losers, heard the screams from the Demonweb Pits because the driders were the lucky ones. Why should any of the things that have happened here disconcert me? What is one assassination attempt against a single priestess? What is one attempt on my own life? I could not tell you how many times I have been almost murdered.”

“That single priestess is your friend. Things are different here.” Kirlin pointed out. “You’re different.”

Solaufein turned his cup thoughtfully, watching the liquid ripple. He found he could not disagree with that statement. He _had_ changed. Things that were once a matter of course now had the power to shock, and ideas that had previously been completely alien now made a certain sense. He tipped back his cup and drained it. It burned hardly at all now. Kirlin wordlessly gave him a refill, and he stared into the liquor’s depths. “Perhaps that is the root of it,” he allowed. “She did say that one can react strangely to a brush with death. And she has been…distressed. It was comfort. That is all.”

He gave the cup another quarter turn. “For all her strengths, the one thing she cannot truly face is the darkness others are capable of. She is too good. She cannot comprehend it. But she was an adventurer all those years; how does one live that life and yet remain so totally untouched by it?” He took a slow drink, and chuckled to himself. “She is a riddle, and its solution, all at once. She is…contradiction, and sense. I owe her more than I could ever repay, but I do not think she sees any debt between us, and that is _maddening_ , and…remarkable. _She_ is remarkable. She is difficult, and trying, and vexing, and…” He smiled slightly. “And so utterly extraordinary.”

Kirlin watched his friend speak with growing trepidation, a terrible realization spreading over him. The liquor had made sense of something, but it was not even remotely what he had suspected. “Solaufein,” he ventured slowly, almost loathe to speak the words aloud, “are you in love with her?”

Solaufein’s head swung to look at him, his face blank with incomprehension. His hand hung in mid-air, the cup half-raised for another drink. Carefully, he set it down, and motioned for Kirlin for a refill. The young captain complied nervously, and, unsure of how to react, he watched as Solaufein emptied it without pausing for breath. The sequence repeated twice more before he finally spoke. “It is a very good thing that is a large bottle,” he said hoarsely. “We will be here a while yet.”

⁂⁂⁂

There was distaste in Latiel’s features when she showed the caller into Demin’s office, and for the quickest instant, Demin’s nerves sang with excitement and dread, for she could only think of one person who warranted such an expression. But there were two such in the world, it seemed, because the male in the door was not whom she had expected. She stood slowly, schooling herself to calm. “Master Favelien. This is an unlooked for surprise.”

The master of the Collegium did not reply until Latiel had closed the door. “I note you do not ward your office, Whiteleaf.”

Demin returned to her seat, her hand extended in an invitation for him to do the same. “No room in the Leaflord’s temple is warded. It is here for all, and I will set no boundaries within it.”

“Ah.” The mage seated himself. “What an interesting perspective. In your position, you would, of course, be more apt to think of others before yourself.”

She narrowed her eyes. “We have not enjoyed cordial relations of late, Magister, so I must ask: what is your business with me?”

“You and I have a shared interest.”

She tried not to laugh. “Do we?”

He looked askance with a small, irritated sigh. It obviously galled him to be there, but there he was nonetheless. Despite herself, her interest was piqued. “I am here concerning the violence offered your person last week.”

“It is my understanding the Queen considers you above suspicion in the matter. I have deferred to her opinion.”

“For which I thank her, and you.” Favelien met her eyes. “I have no desire to see you dead, Demin. I hope you are willing to accept my word to that effect.”

“How sad is it that we have come to this. That you must come to me and give your word of honor that you are not a murderer.”

“I am merely glad no murder has been done. I understand it was a close call for your pet drow, but I should think it would be a small matter to one such as yourself, had he died.”

A few, brief words of prayer for the intercession of the Leaflord, and she could leave Favelien a smoking husk, mage or no. The full might of the divine was at her disposal, power he could never dream of truly equaling…and her first instinct was to lean over the desk and slap him across the face. She drew a tight breath. “He has a name. Use it if you wish to continue this conversation,” she said, her words soft and measured. “And for your information, resurrection is never ‘a small matter’. Had you ever raised the dead, you would know that.” She remembered kneeling beside the bed, Kirlin shrunk against the wall, Solaufein’s wet, labored breathing the only sound. _I will not let you die_ , she had promised him. _I will not let them take you_. She slammed a steel door shut on the memory. Now was not the time.

Fortunately, she seemed to have maintained enough command of her face that Favelien simply shrugged. His jaw was tense, but he was making an obvious effort to remain civil. She had to credit him for that. “A fair point,” he replied. “If I may proceed to the crux of the matter. Our…public differences seem to have taken on a life of their own.”

“As such things are wont to do.”

“Indeed. And while the Queen has absolved me of any role in the attempts on your life and…Solaufein’s,” he pronounced the name with exaggerated correctness, “others seem convinced I have somehow confounded her, and that I am in fact the author of these deeds. I had enjoyed a certain…goodwill among various of the guilds, support I find now withdrawn. Not openly, of course. Yet.”

She managed, just barely, to keep her snort of disdain to a polite volume. “What, were you snubbed for a dinner invitation to the Jewelers’ Guild?”

One did not rise to the height Favelien occupied by being easy to provoke, but his fingers were laced together so tightly the knuckles were white. “I am ultimately responsible for every wizard in the Collegium, from the rawest apprentice to archmages. I _cannot_ have my name blackened by rumor. Too much depends upon me.”

Demin couldn’t help herself. “Goodness,” she murmured, eyes wide, “what must it be like; to stand in such a position and have one’s reputation besmirched in public?”

His teeth gritted, the tightness of his jaw resolving into a muscle twitch, but he inclined his head slightly. “I am sure you find the irony most delicious. I will give you a moment to savor it.”

“You are too kind.” She lifted an eyebrow. “And what is your object, then, bringing this to my attention?”

“That you might repudiate these falsehoods.”

That statement, she felt, deserved both eyebrows. “Why would I do that, other than to enjoy the warmth of doing you a kindness?”

“Whiteleaf,” he said, “I am not ignorant of your opinion of me, nor am I so naïve that I consider it…entirely unwarranted. I expect no kindness from you without price.”

“Then what is your offer?”

Favelien leaned back in his chair with a tilt of his head. “It is my understanding that the Queen has put you from her counsel in the matter of the attacks.”

“She has,” Demin said, suddenly wary.

“I, however, have had some involvement, due to the use of magic against the drow.” She inhaled hotly, and he said, holding up a hand, “Forgive me. Solaufein.” She stared him down in tight-lipped silence as he continued. “Obviously, I would not risk the Queen’s censure by opposing her will, but if I were to quietly share with you information I have learned of my own accord…well, I do not think that would be any great sin.”

She folded her hands, resting them on her desk, mulling over his words, and over the vicissitudes of civic opinion. Here, perhaps, was her chance to shift one profoundly nagging annoyance from her life. “And do you offer this information with a hand of peace? Because I will not speak on your behalf now only to have you stir hornets’ nests against me again.”

Favelien's expression was unreadable. "Certain battles become, with time, no longer worth the effort of their waging." Demin forced herself not to smile.

"How very true. Very well then, Magister. If we are to have a truce, let us discuss terms."


	8. Truth is a Bitter Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You will never know if you can truly have what you want if you do not ask.”_

“I cannot keep this from her, General.” Ellesime stared at the creased letter on her desk.

Elhan pursed his mouth unhappily. “Majesty, it is a vague finding. I am not sure what additional light it truly brings to the case at hand.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Elhan, are you being purposefully obtuse?”

“Your Majesty, I am frequently obtuse, but never on purpose.”

Ellesime stood, turning her back on general and desk alike to gaze out the window. She respected Elhan’s long years of experience, his strong will and tactical mind, but unconventional thinking was not his strongest suit. She wished she could ask for Solaufein’s opinion on the matter, but she knew it would be a poor idea to ask the victim of a murder attempt to investigate the crime. But he was well acquainted with the dark depths to which the unscrupulous could descend, and had a knack for seeing detail that others missed. From a practical standpoint, it seemed a waste to keep him removed. At least he had his work with young Captain Kirlin to keep him occupied. And Demin. Though it seemed they were avoiding each other again. The lengths to which they were both going to ignore their attachment were growing frankly irksome.

She sighed. She longed to unburden herself to her old friend, but involving Demin had not been an option either. Now, however, she might not be able to avoid it.

She turned back towards her desk, and the parchment closely covered in Master Favelien’s spidery scrawl. Ritual magic, particularly when a ritual had to be specifically designed for a particular question, was not an instantaneous matter. Such a spell could be days in preparation – a week and more, in this case. But it had been cast, and the Dean of the Collegium had faithfully reported its result.

The magic used to incapacitate Solaufein the night he had been attacked had been divine in origin.

⁂⁂⁂

“A priest?” Kirlin stared at Naren, who glanced around the crowded barracks common nervously. He took the hint and lowered his voice. “Are you sure?”

“I heard it from Velkin. He helped prepare components for the ritual. It’s still third-hand at best, but…” She shrugged. “Apparently, that’s the newest information.”

“A priest,” he repeated. “Oh, he’s not going to like this. Not one bit.”

Naren looked quizzical. “What’s he got against priests?”

“Nothing. I mean, he definitely-” The captain hushed himself hurriedly. Drunken confessions were perhaps the most sacrosanct, and the last thing he wanted was to fuel more rumors. And he could only imagine the various bloody and inventive ways Solaufein would kill him if he were to betray that particular trust. All the same, it was a secret that screamed inside him, and gods only knew if or when anything would ever come of it.

Naren sighed. “I hope he’s all right. I’ve been worried about him. He’s seemed so distracted lately.

“You mean the Solaufein Admiration Society is worried about him?” Kirlin couldn’t keep the grumble from his voice, and she frowned.

“How do you mean?”

“I am very aware of the fact that quite a few of your squadmates have been interested in him for reasons other than combat training. It’s my job to pay attention to that’s going on under my nose; it’s what a good officer does,” he said loftily.

“I’ll admit,” she said, flushing faintly, “I was... interested in him when he first came here, and I know some of the others are still a bit enamored, but honestly, Captain, I don’t…” An expression of amused comprehension lit her face. “Captain…are you jealous?”

He crossed his arms, trying to mimic the cool unconcern Solaufein radiated without even appearing to try. “No.” Honesty shoved itself forward, and he sighed in annoyance. “Maybe. He makes it look so easy.”

Naren smiled brightly, and laughed. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about, sir.”

“Really?” he grinned, and then coughed, realizing this was probably not the most professional direction for the conversation. He reminded himself of the reason they were speaking in the first place, and worry slithered through the clinks in his good mood, bedding down in the pit of his stomach. He had no way to know what god this unknown priest served, or what their part in the attack had been beyond their spells, but if it had been one of Rillifane’s… He shook himself mentally. Maybe he had been spending too much time around Solaufein. The Leaflord was a god of harmony and equilibrium; violence among his faithful was neither approved nor appreciated.  But, whispered a voice in the back of his head, if the worst case was the truth, the only thing worse than what it would mean to the Whiteleaf would be what Solaufein might do.

⁂⁂⁂

Demin sipped her wine and gave the fairy dragon a dirty look. The familiar, its long-nosed face utterly innocent, gave a small squeak and flapped closer to its master.

She had to credit Favelien; his study was both beautiful and fascinating. The late afternoon sun poured through the arched windows, tinted in various shades of gold and red, spilling across arcane devices of wrought iron and expertly blown glass that crowded the tabletops. Gorgeously tooled leather tomes sacked one on another in veritable towers of knowledge. A mage’s domain swirled with symbolism and mystery, but she frankly preferred her own magic. All she needed was her god. The trappings of wizardry seemed excessive.

“It seems rude to complain, considering the excellence of your wine, but I do have duties I should be about. What was so important that it could not wait?”

Favelien scratched his familiar under the jaw, and Demin covered her laugh with another drink. The mage raised an acrimonious eyebrow. “I have information for you,” he said. “I have already informed the Queen, so I felt it safe to share this with you, as per our arrangement.”

Her heart quickened, but she could not let herself appear too eager. At any rate, his request that she come to him suddenly made much more sense. “And that is why you wished me to come here in person. Now, I have been seen to enter the Collegium, and your tower, and why, the gossips might ask, would the Whiteleaf call on someone who wished her dead? Clever and subtle, Favelien. I approve.”

“One sweeping statement is never enough. It requires thought and effort to shape opinion.”

“Indeed it does,” she murmured into her glass. His mouth twitched, and it gave her a dark, tiny thrill to know he wished she would simply forget his previous actions towards her. But no terms in their truce had stipulated amnesia, and she was not about to honey her words just for his comfort.

“And do you care to hear what I have for you or not?”

“Forgive me, Magister. Of course.”

“The divination ritual was cast this morning. Its results are not contrary to previous speculation, but it does raise a new question. Two spells were cast against your dr-” Favelien checked himself. “Against Solaufein. The first was a spell of light, which, in that small room, in the dark of night, for one very sensitive to brightness, easily blinded him. The second immobilized him, preventing him from self-defense. As I said, those results merely confirmed of existing theory.”

“You mentioned another question.”  The calmness of her own voice surprised her.

“The spells were not arcane. The caster was a priest.”

He wasn’t gloating, she realized, as bits of her stunned psyche fluttered like leaves in a gale. His face was still and somber, and if he was smirking, it was only on the inside. At least he was generous enough for that.

She looked down, and noticed that she was still holding her wine glass. Her grip had tightened so her hands had gone numb. Carefully, she set it on the sideboard, impressed that it barely shook at all. She took a deep breath. “Was that all?”

“For now. Should anything new come to my attention, I will inform you.”

“Thank you,” she said, standing. “I will see myself out.”

She could still walk, and speak, and passing through the Collegium courtyard, looked only mildly distracted, but within, she was a blur of possibilities. She descended through the city in a fog, trying to fit this new information against what she already knew, walking without direction for what felt like hours. And perhaps it was, though the ever-shortening days as the year slipped towards the depths of winter made the daylight disappear so quickly. She looked upward through the branches and far-slung walkways and knew in her heart there was only one person whose counsel she truly wanted now. She gathered her skirts firmly and began to ascend once more, up towards the temple.

⁂⁂⁂

He couldn’t stay any longer.

That thought had been the first to come to Solaufein when he had woken from the stupor induced by Kirlin’s dreadful bootlegged alcohol. After what he had realized, after what he had _said_ , there was no other alternative. His friendship with Demin had been troublesome enough, but gods of every plane preserve him, he was in love with her. He knew better than to deny it. He’d tried that once before and learned a sharp lesson - love had a way of forcing its acknowledgment, whether one wanted it or not. But with this knowledge, he knew he had only one course of action. Remaining in Suldanessellar, feeling as he did, was possibly the most potent recipe for disaster he had ever encountered.

There wasn’t much to pack, and most of the few belongings he had accumulated in the past several months could be easily left behind. He should probably leave a few notes, though – to Kirlin, definitely, and the Queen, to thank them both, and let them know how much their goodness and generosity was appreciated.

Demin deserved one too, but all he could think of to tell her was _“I_ _’m sorry_ _”._

Solaufein looked around the small room, a far too familiar weight resting on his heart. There were many sensations he had only known in passing before he came to the surface, but regret was an old friend. He had let this go on long enough. 

There was a light, uncertain knock at the door. Not Kirlin’s knock, and if it wasn’t Kirlin, then who might it be? He had never had any other real visitors, and he doubted that sound to be the knock of another would-be assassin. He was finding it difficult to be excessively worried over his own life at the moment anyway. He opened the door, and blinked, his hand slipping from the door latch in surprise. “Demin.”

She stared at a spot on the floor a few feet from him, picking worriedly at a button on her sleeve cuff. “I realize I have never called on you, but I-” She looked up, her eyes unhappy. “I needed to speak with you.”

He should tell her no, he thought. Be gentle but firm, shut the door, and let that be the end of it. Wasn’t the unhappiness in her face now just another symptom? The pain and fear she had felt; weren’t they ultimately his making? It would be better to tell her to go. But his hand had no strength to close the door, only to silently step out of the doorway and allow her entry.

She cast her eyes about the small room, and he was suddenly self-conscious of its barrenness. She understood – there was no way she couldn’t, and she turned her face to him sharply. “Solaufein, were you-?”

“How may I assist you, Whiteleaf?” he interrupted, not looking at her. Her silence made it obvious the reversion to her title stung, and when she spoke, her voice was stiff.

“I am sure that you have heard. Of the Collegium’s findings.”

He nodded, his gaze on the window. “Kirlin has kept me informed.”

“That is what I…” She stepped around him, standing between him and the window, forcing him to look at her. The severity and chill of his stance cut like glass. “That is why I wished to speak to you. No one else… There is no one else whose insight I can trust as I do yours. I have missed it.” She swallowed. “And you.”

The forbidding mask slipped, and he said softly, “You are surrounded by friends you have known for centuries. What have I to offer that they do not?”

Didn’t he know? She stared at him, thinking that surely he must. He had to know. There was no one else in the world like him. There were so few people she could claim a true affinity towards; how long it had taken for that feeling to form was inconsequential. Didn’t he realize that?

He looked back at her with that perplexed incomprehension in his eyes she had come to know so well; even with care resting on his shoulders, he still could not help but try to make sense of her. The world was one great puzzle to him, and to let its pieces go unsorted would go against his very nature. It was, above all, his restless, seeking mind that drew her to him. Of all his qualities, it was the one she loved best.

Her heart seized suddenly within her, and her breath caught in her throat. Of course. _Of course_.

His forehead creased slightly. “Are you well?”

“I…” She forced herself to take a calming breath, but her head continued to spin defiantly. Solaufein, his expression now openly concerned, took her hands in his and guided her gently towards the bed and a seated position. He sat beside her.

“Demin…is something wrong? Did I say something I should not?”

She looked at him thoughtfully, as though seeing him for the first time. _What a funny phrase that is_ , she thought, _and how apropos_. The true first time she had seen him, her reaction had been revulsion, and anger. Now, she could not imagine seeing him through such hostile eyes. How profoundly perceptions could shift; for she knew it was not his face that had changed since that night, only how she saw it.

“Demin?” he prompted.

Even in his most serious moments, his mouth quirked slightly, as if he had just figured out a joke, and was trying to decide if he should share it. His eyes, arresting in their deep, jewel-like color, were fixed on her, and she felt strangely shy and awkward. When had she begun to think of him as handsome?

“You’ve done nothing wrong, Solaufein,” she said, shaking her head.

“I feel as though I have.”

She pulled her eyes from his (it was so difficult to look away), and looked at the sad emptiness of his small room. “Is that why you’re planning to leave?”

He sighed in frustration. So she _had_ noticed. There was nothing to be gained in lying, then. “Among other reasons.”

“And those would be?”

“Please do not ask me to provide you with a list. Is it not enough to say that I have been here long enough and I feel that it is time that I am gone?”

“It would be, if I did not find the timing suspect. And if I-” She balled the fabric of her skirt in one hand, staring at her lap. “”And if I did not care to see you go.”

He did not immediately reply, weighing his words in silence. Finally, he said softly, “It is for your sake.”

She looked up. “My sake?”

“Hasn’t my presence here brought enough havoc and upheaval to your life?”

“Change is rarely a smooth process, Solaufein. Not even the seasons themselves turn gracefully every time. If you have brought havoc and upheaval, then so be it.”

“Then should I simply shrug my shoulders and accept that I have caused you pain? That fraternizing with me has hurt you? Both as yourself and as Rillifane’s priestess? No. If a wound is poisoned, you draw it out. It is best for you if I do not remain.”

Her back stiffened, and a faint, contentious line formed on her brow. “That is an insult and a falsehood. How dare you claim to know what is best for me?”

“Because for some reason I cannot currently fathom, I care what happens to you!” he snapped, springing to his feet and facing her angrily. “Your life, your happiness, your status in your faith – they all matter to me, even if you are too reckless with them all to see it!”

A part of her was moved at the declaration. The rest was fuming. “Reckless? How have I been reckless?”

“I have given you opportunities, time and again, to disassociate yourself from me, and you have never taken them! You charge on, daring the world to think ill of you! _That_ is reckless.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” she shot back. “What other reaction is to be had to a male too insecure to see that someone finds his friendship valuable?”

His mouth opened, incredulous. “Insecure?”

“What else am I to call it?”

“I might call it caution. Restraint. An appropriate recognition of my status.”

She snorted. “You can either live your life on the surface with your head ducked, or you can force others to look you in the eye and accept that you have a right to be here. Will you spend the rest of your life keeping out of sight and hoping no one takes anything you say in the wrong way, or will you make a place for yourself?”

He stared at her, then shook his head with a wan chuckle. “You are absolutely galling.”

“No more than you,” she said, crossing her arms defensively.

He turned, gazing at the floor. “Very well. This round is yours, Demin; you are right. But still, I cannot stay.”

“Why?”

“No matter what I may wish, I am an outsider here, and there will always be things I desire that I cannot have.” The next words were almost too soft to hear. “Why should I torment myself with them?”

She tightened her arms around herself. “Why would you assume you cannot have what you wish for?” she murmured, both dreading and desperate for the answer. His head turned, and the touch of pain in his sidelong gaze made her heart ache.

“We are talking in circles. You know why.” She stood, and approached him, a hand raised tentatively, but he faced her again, clearing his throat. “Regarding the magers’ findings – it could have very easily been a priest of Shar or Mask or some other human god. Considering the use of professional assassins in the attempt against you, that would be my opinion.” His head tilted slightly. “You fear it was one of yours. Don’t. There is nothing to be gained in torturing yourself so.”

“Ironic advice,” she said softly. He glared.

“Hardly. It is precisely the advice I am attempting to follow myself.”

“I know it is an unreasonable fear,” she sighed. “But after everything that has happened…” He nodded, and she scowled at him. “None of which I blame on you, idiot! If you think I am going to allow you to slip away because you would rather go off into the wilderness to feel sorry for yourself, then you are very much mistaken!”

He scowled back. “So I do not have her holiness the Whiteleaf’s permission to do what I feel is best for her, but she may do so for me? The double standard at work is _astounding_.”

“Fine then!” she bristled. “Go!” Her voice trembled. “But you will never know if you can truly have what you want if you do not ask.”

She spun on her heel, determined to make a stomping and dramatic exit, but his voice stopped her in the doorway. “Demin. I do not want to leave you in anger.”

“Then don’t go. Because I cannot imagine any manner in which you might that would not leave me infuriated.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you…” She sighed, and turned to face him. “Those stones you told me of – _zist_ , or whatever it is that they are called.”

“ _Zith_ _’ist_ ,” he supplied.

"You said they are necessary, as landmarks for travelers.” He nodded. “And you have become necessary to me.”

He opened his mouth, but language in all its forms had deserted him, and all he could do was look at her. She glanced at her feet uncertainly, busying her hands with her cuff buttons again. When she looked up, he was still staring, and she would have laughed at his astonishment if she had not been somewhat surprised at her own words. She felt as though she should explain, somehow, and he wanted to find the perfect reply. But they stood in silence, eyes locked on each other, and silence said everything they could not.

Demin finally found her voice. “It’s late. I should go.”

“Of course.” Solaufein cleared his throat. “Good night, Demin.”

“Good night.” The silence loomed again, and though her hand ached to touch him, an inexplicable reserve rooted her to the spot. “Solaufein…please promise me you will not make any rash decisions.”

He wanted her to go; the confusion born of her presence was almost more than he could stand. But that sensation was immediately challenged by a desire for her to stay, one so strong he had to keep his hands clenched in fists at his sides. He dropped his eyes, a tiny laugh surprising him as much as it did her. “My rate of success in keeping my promises to you has been less than sterling, but…” He looked at her again, and tried to smile. “But I will try. For you.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, and disappeared into the hall while she still had the will to go.

Solaufein slid onto his bed in a heap, covering his face with his hands. Being in love was a fool’s adventure.

⁂⁂⁂

Demin found it near impossible to rest that night. The peace and calm of reverie taunted her from a distance, mocking her confusion. She could not put the exchange with Solaufein from her mind - she could not put _him_ from her mind - and so she spent the next day in irritability, doing all she could to avoid taking out her own foolishness on those around her. And other than reducing one junior acolyte to tears, by early afternoon, she had mostly succeeded.

She was crossing the sanctum with Latiel in her wake when a cry rose from the front of the temple. Every head turned as two males half-staggered through the double doors, their posture bent to support the weight of the bleeding young soldier they carried. Solaufein and Thelarias were immediately surrounded; half a dozen pairs of hands reached to help them lower the patient to the floor. Demin had to smile proudly at that, and she glanced at Solaufein as he straightened, stretching his shoulders. If her insides were going to flutter, they would have to do it later. This was more important. “What happened to her?”

“A practice sword splintered. Caught her in the throat,” he replied. Demin winced. “Kirlin was able to keep her from immediate danger, but obviously, she needs a priest.” His left eyebrow twitched sardonically as he looked at the gathered healers. “Or six.” He glanced at Thelarias, whose complexion had taken on the sickly color of fresh parchment. “If you are going to lose your lunch, do us all the favor of _not_ doing it in here. And when you are done, do not bother to return, because I think the Leaflord deserves somewhat better than a soldier who cannot stand the sight of blood.” Thelarias glowered, but steadfastly held his ground, and his stomach.

Demin bit her lower lip to keep from smiling, and chided, “You are a harsh teacher.” Solaufein rolled his eyes.

“Compared to my own training, I swaddle them all in silk.”

“I can believe it.” She allowed herself to smile at that, and stepped closer to him, lowering her voice. “I’m pleased to see you.”

He tilted his head, and the softness around his eyes made her heart pound. “I apologize if I made you fear I would disappear in the night. I thought better of it.”

“I’m glad.”

“I realized,” he said, rubbing the side of his neck absently, “that it would be impolite of me to abandon Kirlin and his cubs at this point. The Queen would likely be very genteelly put out. And it occurred to me…” His eyes caught hers with a heady intensity, “that if I do not wish to cause you pain, then I should trust your judgment, and allow you to guide me. Perhaps...it is a necessity.”

She felt her cheeks warm, and she didn’t know whether she should thank him, scold him, or smugly tell him that of course he should. She settled for smiling at him, and he returned it; there was no denying that something lay between them, even if she still was not sure she had a name for it. But perhaps, she thought, warmed by his smile, just as they had managed to negotiate the tricky path to friendship, just _perhaps_ , they might-

“Oakheart Latiel? Is something wrong?”

Silverbark Tafaelen’s voice broke through the haze, and Demin looked with concern towards the cluster of priests still gathered about the young soldier. She was conscious, propped groggily against one of the acolytes, and Latiel was kneeling beside her, a hand extended. Confusion, and something that looked strangely like fear, colored her face. “What is it?” Demin asked.

“I-I was about to heal the damage to the smaller blood vessels,” Latiel replied, her expression still lost. “It’s such delicate work, after all. But when I tried…nothing happened.”

“Nothing happened? But that-” Demin froze. Horror, inky and thick as blood, stole through her. There were many reasons why a priest’s prayers might fail. They might ask too much, requesting power their god was not yet willing to provide. Or they might attempt healing or harm beyond the endurances of their own physical and mental strength. And sometimes being in a place consecrated to an enemy of one’s god could circumvent their grace. But for a priest of Latiel’s rank, in her own temple, Demin could think of only one reason. And it was almost too terrible to contemplate. “Latiel…” she whispered, voice and hands shaking, “how have you offended Rillifane? What have you done?”

An appalled hush fell over the sanctum. Latiel’s head dropped, and when she looked up, there were tears in her eyes. “Whiteleaf…I’m afraid I have something to confess.”


	9. Leap of Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Are you saying that you love me?”_

There were wards over the doors leading to the cells in the lowest level of the palace, and others carved into the floor. They glowed dimly in the gloomy corridor, activated for the first time in years, but to Solaufein’s sensitive eyes, they were lit like flames. He glanced at Demin, who stood beside him with her arms wrapped tight around herself, her green eyes shuttered against any expression. Her face was utterly colorless, and she looked as if the slightest touch would knock her from her feet. Despite that, some nameless instinct made him want to pull her close to his side; he wanted to protect her, of all the ridiculous things.

Kirlin, standing to his right, shifted uncomfortably. “I wish I could talk you out of this,” he said in a low voice.

“I have it from the Queen that it is my right as the aggrieved party to face my assailant,” Solaufein replied. “And I believe that right to be extended to the Whiteleaf, as her superior whose trust was betrayed.” He was somewhat impressed by how steady his voice was.

“I understand that, Solaufein, but I-”

“We are neither of us made of glass, Captain,” Demin said shortly. Her chin came up. “This will be painful, but necessary.”  She drew herself up, and started down the hallway, Solaufein in close step behind her, looking for all the world like her own personal spirit of vengeance. Kirlin’s shoulders slumped as he fell in behind them. He could be overruled, but he didn’t have to enjoy it.

There were two guards outside the only occupied cell – a senior ranger and one of the Collegium’s battle mages. As they approached, the mage said, “The Queen is within. And General Elhan. I will let them know you are here.”

“Thank you,” Demin said, her voice dispassionate. But her fists clenched in agitation, and for the briefest of seconds, so fast Kirlin could not be sure he actually saw it happen, Solaufein’s hand covered hers.

The mage knocked on the cell door, tapping at the ward emblazoned on its center. He entered the cell, and the few moments of his absence felt like hours, until he reemerged, inclining his head. “You may go in.”

“I’ll wait out here,” Kirlin muttered dispiritedly. He leaned against the opposite wall as Demin and Solaufein entered Latiel’s cell.

It was, Solaufein noticed, far larger and better furnished than any prisoner’s hole in Ust Natha. That didn’t surprise him. He was accustomed enough to the surface and Suldanessellar now that he had learned to expect such things. But looking at the fallen priestess, sitting in what his eye saw as luxury, considering her crimes, he longed to toss her into a pit cage for the baying amusement of his kin. He pointedly looked away from her. When it could not be acted upon, such a feeling was not terribly satisfying.

The Queen sat in a plain chair opposite Latiel, her hands folded, and Elhan stood behind her, impassive save for the flickering anger in his eyes. In the corner of the small room, another male in a mage’s robe sat silently, a lap desk over his knees. His pen hovered over parchment, his eyes white from whatever spell of recall allowed him to keep notes accurate enough for the Queen’s use. She looked up as the door closed behind them, her face still and grave. “Are you sure you wish to do this now?” she asked.

“The sooner it is done, the sooner it will be done with,” Demin said. She couldn’t pull her eyes from Latiel. Where was the unassuming, orderly young priestess she had known from an acolyte? Where was the quick-witted organizer, the gentle voice of reason? How long had she been this expressionless stranger? At her back, Demin sensed Solaufein’s presence, shifting a half step closer to her. She wanted to sag against him, and completely forego standing under her own strength, but she couldn’t. Not here and not yet.

“Very well,” Ellesime said. She addressed Latiel. “You will tell the Whiteleaf and Master Solaufein all you have told myself and General Elhan, and you will answer any question put to you. You will be honest, and you will exclude no detail. Is this understood?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Latiel whispered, her eyes fixed on her lap.

“Then begin.”

Latiel looked up, her miserable gaze fixed on Demin. “I’m sorry, Whiteleaf. I just wanted him gone. It was not my wish to take the matter so far. Please believe me. I would have preferred a far less dramatic end. But he wouldn’t go, and I… I had to do something.” She swallowed, clenching her fists in the fabric of her skirt. “At first, I thought I had the perfect solution. If he felt unwelcome and left of his own volition, no one would be hurt, and that would be the end of it. But he wouldn’t take the hint.” She sighed bitterly. “It seemed so clean at the time.”

Demin forced herself to swallow through a tightened throat. “The notes, and the graffiti outside his door…that was your doing?” Latiel nodded, and her eyes cut back towards her lap. “Did you have any confederates in it?”

Latiel shook her head vigorously. “No. It was my own work. Entirely. Though there were others who likely would have helped,” she added with a wretched little laugh. “I heard enough talk, especially at first. But I…did not want to foment a conspiracy in the temple, so I kept my own counsel.” She looked up hopefully, as if that might count for something, and Demin’s heart ached for her misguided intentions. 

“I don’t understand, Latiel. Why was it so important that he go? Why were you so determined to be rid of him?”

Latiel exhaled tearfully. “I tried to explain it to you! I did! You wouldn’t listen! With so much bad blood stirred up after the Exile’s return, the first thing you did was befriend a _drow_! There was so much at stake, and you just went blithely on, as if it didn’t even matter! You never think of yourself, Whiteleaf! Ever! So I thought that if you wouldn’t distance yourself from him, the next best option would be for him to leave.” Her eyes sought Demin’s pleadingly. “Someone had to look out for your best interests if you wouldn’t.”

The absurdity of the statement made Demin want to laugh, but as weak and lightheaded as she felt, she knew she would not be able to stop until long after hysteria had claimed her. “Harassment proved insufficient, so you turned to violence?”

“I didn’t want to. I swear I didn’t. But the notes didn’t work, and you wouldn’t repudiate him, and I found myself thinking how much easier it would be if he just died.” Her eyes dropped again. “Then I had my answer.” Latiel’s voice sank into a whisper. “But you weren’t supposed to have been there. They were supposed to have waited until he was alone. Humans can be such fools sometimes.”

Demin tilted her head, taken aback. “There was no assassination attempt against me, then?”

Latiel shook her head. “He was their target, not you.” She sighed. “It was a complete waste of coin. That was when I realize it was pointless to avoid dirtying my hands. To think,” she said, snorting humorlessly, “that I managed better than four so-called professionals.”

A surge of fury, bright and blistering as the sun, roared through Demin’s veins, burning the pity and sorrow away to ashes. “And that was your solution. You wanted him gone that badly? You felt so strongly that you thought your only option was to stab him in the back and leave him to _choke to death on his own blood_?”

“I was trying to protect you!” Latiel cried, tears streaming down her face. “You couldn’t see the risks anymore! This city needs you!”

“How DARE you make me your justification for murder!”

“I believe there is nothing more to gained in this,” Ellesime interrupted sharply. “Perhaps it would be best that you go, Demin.” She met Solaufein’s eye. “Will you see her home, Solaufein?” He nodded, and Elhan, storm-faced and bleak, knocked on the door to have them let out.

Solaufein touched Demin’s trembling arm. “Demin,” he said softly, “please.” Latiel shook her head with cold condemnation.

“You don’t see it,” she whispered. “You refuse to see it. He will cost you EVERYTHING.”

Solaufein rounded on her, red eyes narrowed. “And yet Rillifane has not withdrawn his grace from _her_.” Latiel stiffened, and he leaned over her grimly. “Remember this, apostate. You are nothing to me. You are merely the latest in a very long line of those who have sought my life, stretching back to my cradle. And I am still here. The only thing that makes you special is who you have affronted in your quest to kill me. You have offended your god, and you have injured his priestess. _That_ makes you my enemy.”

“Solaufein.” The Queen’s tone was almost a snap. “I have bid you go.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” he murmured, bowing his head. He offered Demin his arm once more and they exited the cell.

Kirlin looked up as the door closed behind them. Neither face was readable. “What did-”

“I am taking her home, Kirlin,” Solaufein said. “You should return to your quarters. We’ll speak tomorrow.”

Demin leaned heavily on his arm as they walked down the twilight lit path towards her house. The burst of rage burnt out, she had retreated once more into stiff silence. Solaufein couldn’t blame her. He certainly could not find anything worth saying either. The strange, protective impulse he had felt before welled up again the further they walked. He wanted to shield her from everything that caused her pain, and he wasn’t completely sure what he should do with the feeling. He glanced at her, and the dullness of her gaze proved a more immediate concern. He tucked away the odd sensation to deal with later as she unlocked and opened the door.

She methodically removed and set aside her cloak and shoes, then turned, and in one step had her arms around him. Her shoulders shook, and at first, he wasn’t sure why, until she could no longer stifle the sobs. He couldn’t tell her not to cry, not this time, and so he closed his eyes and held her while she wept.

“How did I not know?” she cried, her voice muffled. “How did I not see it?”

Priestesses of Lolth turned on one another as a matter of course. An underling was always on the lookout for the opportunity to upset her mistress’s standing – it was the best way to guarantee advancement. And attempting to destroy a superior’s favorite (was it presumptuous to claim that distinction for himself?) was so commonplace it was practically passé. But it was not ambition or malice that had spurred Latiel’s actions, and he found himself at a loss to answer Demin’s questions. All he could do was hold her as she clung to him, the strange ache building in his chest again, and this time he wrenched the feeling to the fore for proper examination.

She was so strong, and it was that strength that had intrigued him from the first. It was not born of arrogance or cruelty, but from humility and self-reliance, and knowing her now made so many of the females from his life before seem brittle and artificial by comparison. Fittingly enough, her strength was an organic thing, fixed deep like a tree’s roots to the soil. And yet she was crying in his arms, wounded and betrayed beyond expression. No one had the right to do that to her. He thought of Latiel, sitting in her cell, pitying herself, and he wanted to reach into his memory and tear out her throat.

He pushed the anger away again as Demin’s tears began to taper off. He found himself murmuring nonsense to her, the words secondary to the simple truth of a soft voice reminding her she was not alone. She leaned against him as if he were the only thing keeping her upright, and he cast about in his mind for some comfort he could give her. All the available avenues seemed so woefully insufficient. His hand slid down her back, running over her hair to rest on her waist, and she murmured softly, a tiny exhalation of pleasure so quiet he almost didn’t hear it. An idea formed.

He bent his head slightly, brushing his lips against her neck, just below the ear. She inhaled at the contact, and he followed the line of her throat down towards her collarbone; the neckline of her dress was cut just low enough to reveal it. Surfacer females really did wear too many clothes, but then, he was learning there was something to be said for the allure of the unrevealed. Her head tilted back, her breathing grown ragged, and he slowly dragged his mouth back up towards her jaw, tracing patterns on her skin with his lips and the tip of his tongue. He had no words to erase the pain of Latiel’s treachery, or soothe her own guilt and anger, but he could give her this.

With great deliberation, he slipped his left hand up to cradle her cheek, gently turning her head to kiss her lips. The first time they had kissed, it had been a hurried, desperate affair. This time, he was determined to savor it, and let her do the same. She tensed for an instant, then melted against him like candle wax, her mouth moving against his. His free hand followed the curve of her waist around and up, his fingers loosening the buttons on her bodice, encouraged by the heat of her kiss, the sensation of her tongue seeking his. He wondered if he should try to edge her towards the sitting room. At the very least, a seated position would be best for what he had in mind…

“Solaufein,” she whispered breathlessly, her lips just far enough from his to allow speech, “what are we doing?”

He furrowed his forehead deeply. She was joking, wasn’t she? “I didn't think it would require explanation.”

She took a half step back from him, catching her breath. After approximately three seconds of trying to ignore the rise and fall of her breasts, he gave up and let himself watch. “I…I know where that was going,” she said, “but I am not sure that we should.”

“Very well. If you do not wish to, that is your right.” He crossed his arms and did his best not to look sulky. “I did not know the Leaflord had any prohibition against his priesthood indulging in sensualities. I apologize.”

“He does not,” Demin replied, her face flushed. “There is no sin in pleasure.”

“Then I do not understand.”

The blushed deepened, and she turned her gaze to the floor at her feet. “I cannot speak for others, but for myself…it is a different matter when the heart is involved.” She kept her eyes riveted downward, her stomach turning on itself in mortification. Of all the conversations to be had _now_.

He was silent for so long that she half-wondered if he had simply turned and walked away. She chanced looking up and saw him giving her that look again, but this time, she was nearly positive he was flushed too. “So…” he said slowly, “you are saying that you love me.”

Just once, she wanted to be there when his insight _didn_ _’t_ work. But the words were said, and she couldn’t bring herself to lie. And perhaps she had wanted him to figure it out for her anyway. “I suppose that I am.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “And that is why you will not have sex with me.”

She should have known better than to ever think she could predict his reactions.

“No! That is not why at all!”

“What other conclusion am I to draw, Demin?” he asked, baffled.

“That I do not want you for a toy! That I care enough for you that I do not wish to treat you like some disposable tumble!”

His confusion gave way to irritation. “I do not recall implying either of those things.”  He sighed, and gently brushed a lock of hair back over her shoulder. “I could not bear to see you weep. I cannot make your pain disappear, but I thought to…distract you from it, for a little while. I am sorry.” He looked away from her, but she touched his chin, meeting his eyes with a softened expression.

“That is…very kind, in its own way. But it only illustrates my point. I cannot take advantage of you for my own comfort.”

“How is it taking advantage if it is my idea?”

“I would feel that it was taking advantage!” she said, frustrated. “If you and I...if we were to be intimate, I would hope it would be for more than one night's distraction.”

But they  _were_  intimate, he thought. Sex was bodies; it was flesh and release. To his mind, they had already stumbled well past the boundaries of intimacy. But just like everything else, it was different on the surface. And just like everything else, it was the difference he had to account for. “Demin, what would be thought of you, taking a drow as a lover? How could I face myself, knowing the injury it would do to your reputation? I care for you too much to be the cause of more suffering.”

She bit her lower lip, head tilted, and asked softly, “Are you saying that you love me?”

He swallowed, then nodded his acknowledgement. “Yes.”

“And that is why you will not have sex with me.”

“I did not say tha-” The words died as he stared at her, her lips quivering with a barely suppressed smile. “Oh, of course.”

She ducked her head, still trying to keep the smile from blossoming. “You must admit, you made that _entirely_ too easy.”

“I did. And naturally, you exploited it.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “You are the most dangerous female I have ever known.”

“That is either the highest of compliments or a terrible insult.”

“Indeed. I am personally undecided.”

She shook her head, still smiling, and stepped close, and he found himself reaching out without even realizing it. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he leaned his cheek against her hair, breathing in the scent of it. This was insanity and folly, but for all his protestations of what he would not do, when arrayed against the depth of his feelings, they were feeble and ill equipped. Admiration, respect, affection, desire – it was a skein bound so tight he could no longer make out its individual threads. She was his match in every way, a source of endless and varied challenge, and now, with her so near, denying himself seemed more like masochism than good sense. “What is this, Demin?” he murmured. “I do not know what to call it.”

“I do not either,” she admitted, just as softly. “But I am not afraid of it.”

He considered that, then asked, “Why not?”

She peered at him curiously. “Why should I fear something that brings me joy?” she replied.

“ **I** bring you joy?” His eyes narrowed in confusion. “Demin, have you met me?”

She laughed. “There!” she exclaimed. “Yes, and that is why!” She touched his face, drawing her fingertips over the planes of his cheeks, her smile drifting from amusement to warmth. “You are maddening, yes, but you are also marvelous. I cannot help but love you. I would be a fool to tell myself otherwise.”

He closed his eyes and drew a breath. “And do you want me?” he asked softly.

“More than I can say.” She looked up, almost surprised at the speed and certainty of her answer. She had felt weak before, wearied almost past endurance by her pain and anger. She had wanted to collapse in Solaufein’s arms and let his strength bear her up. Now she was still weak and she still wanted his arms, but it was not fury than made her tremble. “But not as a distraction. Not as a diversion. For yourself only. You deserve nothing less.”

He forced himself to look at her, into her eyes. He was on a precipice, but the fall seemed so inviting. If this was madness, then so be it. If she wanted him, he was hers for the taking. Now if he could find the words to-

“I think it is long past time to seek my bed,” she said, in the same quiet tone. “Will you join me?”

His heart skipped a beat. He’d had no idea that could actually happen. “Lead the way.”

The rest of Demin’s small house was furnished more for the comfort of others than for herself. But her bedroom was a space of her own, and Solaufein felt privileged to see it in all its comfortable clutter. Pride of place was given to her personal altar, set under the window, and to its right, the rack that bore her lacquered suit of mail. A bookcase stuffed to overflowing and a similarly full wardrobe dominated the opposite wall. The bed was not so much made as smoothed, and she stood at its foot and chuckled. “I am suddenly very awkward,” she said, “as if I have never done this before.”

“If it is any consolation,” he said, meeting her nervous smile with one of his own, “I feel very much the same.”

“Then I am in good company,” she whispered, taking his hands. She guided them to her still partially unbuttoned bodice, helping him work the last few buttons free, shrugging her shoulders to aid him in sliding her dress to the floor. They undressed each other carefully and eased towards to the bed, caught somewhere between eagerness and caution, doubt and certainty, fear and ecstasy.

He was tense at first, and overly eager to please, and she found it difficult to avoid wondering at comparisons between herself and his prior experience. But progression built confidence, and soon, each found wonders with the other. She let herself relax, pushing imagined pasts aside, grateful to be sharing the present with him. In turn, he marveled at her lack of pride; she lost herself as no drow female would ever dare do. It was like reverie, he thought - something simple he could have known, but never had. It was uncomplicated and imperfect, a beginning, rather than an end to itself, and though the rest of the multiverse might not have realized it, they at least knew that everything, and nothing, had changed.

They lay in silence for some time afterward, until he finally asked, “Would you like me to go?”

“Why would I want you to do that?”

“Because we just-” He felt his face heat, and understanding lit in her eyes.

“I don’t want you to go, but I do want you to be comfortable. If it would…give you ease to leave, I would understand.”

He considered that. Mentally, he walked himself through leaving – getting up from the bed, putting on his clothes, down the stairs and out the door, back to the temple and his narrow, solitary bed. But here was warmth, and welcome, and _her_. Sex was bodies, yes, but this had been more than just flesh. How interesting. And incredible. “I am comfortable now,” he said.

She smiled, looking almost relieved. “Good.” She carefully shifted her position, angling her body against his. His arm lifted to drape over her shoulders (almost like a reflex, he thought), as she rested her head on his chest. “If you did go, we could not do this. And I think this is my favorite part.”

“Is it?” He could not have stopped the quip with a net and crossbow. “Judging from your reaction earlier, I thought I’d already discovered your favorite part.”

She blushed a hot, vivid pink and bumped her knee against the side of his leg. “Cad.”

“Thank you for not aiming higher,” he said, smiling.

“That wouldn’t be sporting,” she replied primly. She turned her head slightly, and rather noisily kissed the side of his neck. “But I will have my revenge,” she warned.

“If that was a prelude, I find it difficult to be apprehensive.”

She propped herself up on her folded arms, a dangerous arch to her eyebrows. “I can keep you waiting for a very long time.”

“Anticipation is a fine aphrodisiac,” he countered. Laughing helplessly, she buried her face against his neck once more, and he wrapped his arms around her, relishing her skin against his. “You were right.” he told her quietly. “This is better than just distraction.”

She made a small sound of pleased agreement, curling ever closer to his side, her left hand brushing a long arc over his chest, down his flank and back again. He'd had few opportunities to indulge in this peace after the storm. It was not considered an integral part of the sexual experience in the Underdark, and even though things had been different with Phaere, there had always been the knife's edge of distrust at times like this, too deeply ingrained for either of them to ever completely abandon. But Demin carried no such baggage. She could lie beside him, draped over his body, her head pillowed on the hollow of his shoulder, and do so with perfect ease. It was a remarkable sensation, to be so close to her, to have her touch him with absent, gentle affection; it drilled past generations of cultural programming straight into some primal state that craved proximity. And here it was. Here he could relax and let his mind wander, awash in a feeling he hadn’t even really known he wanted. But more important than that, it obviously meant a great deal to her. Who was he to refuse her anything?

“Solaufein?” Her voice was soft, and a bit somber. “May I ask a question?”

“Of course.”

“What is it about me that inspires others to attempt to protect me from that which I do not care to be protected from? Why would someone do terrible things, to keep me from harm I do not even fear?”

Distraction obviously would not have worked. “Demin,” he reproved gently, “you should not waste any thought on her. She is not worth the exertion.”

“I know. She is in Ellesime's hands now. But I...I do not understand. Am I a child to be coddled, too foolish to know that fire is hot and knives are sharp? Why can I not be trusted to know my own mind?”

He mulled the questions over. She believed it was worth it, to join their bodies as their hearts had already, quite unintentionally, been joined. It was a decision that carried risk, real and present, but he had chosen to trust her. Perhaps if one’s own belief was not quite strong enough, it was enough to rely on someone else’s, at least for long enough to make a start. “It is your faith, I think,” he said quietly. “You leap off cliffs, never fearing for a moment that you will not be caught. For most, it is difficult to conceive of such certainty.” _Even among your fellow priests_ , he added in his mind. “I was wrong when I called you reckless before. It is not recklessness that prompts you to make the decisions you do. It is conviction.”

She moved her shoulders abashedly. “I can see how I might appear reckless, though. Sometimes I grow so self-assured I forget to think of what my actions might look like from the outside.” She lifted her head to smile quickly at him. “Perhaps that is why you plague me so. You have an unnatural knack for noticing the things I do not see.”

“Not that you ever listen to me,” he snorted.

“I do!” she protested. “Did I not take your advice in handling Favelien?”

“That is the exception that proves the rule.” She huffed at him irritably, and he craned his neck to kiss her, smiling at her peevishness. She delighted him, in all her moods, and that was knowledge both thrilling and terrifying. “But in this particular instance,” he added, “I have followed your lead. You have not leapt alone this time.”


	10. No Word for Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Certain fortifications become obsolete, when the threats they once guarded against are lost to time.”_

It was not yet dawn when Demin roused from the peace of reverie. She turned her head, and smiled at Solaufein, who lay beside her. She had forgotten how good it felt to share her bed, and spend the night aware of the warm presence beside her. He hadn’t seemed to mind – even his complaints about her cold feet had been in good humor, though she suspected that, in general, he complained more for his own amusement than any other reason.

She thought about settling back against his chest and dozing a little while longer, but regretfully discarded the idea. It would be long and difficult day; there would be questions when she returned to the temple, and she was not sure she had any suitable answers. But she owed it to her subordinates to be there, and show a brave face while they all grappled with the crimes of one of their own. She got out of bed with a sigh, and pulled a fresh shift from the clothes chest at its foot. She looked at herself for a moment in the dressing table mirror, trying to sort out what a brave face looked like.

At first, she wasn’t sure she actually heard the knocking. It was so soft and irregular she thought it might be simply be a branch in the wind. But then it continued, more loudly, and she snatched up her dressing gown and headed down the stairs to investigate. Whoever it was would get to see their priestess half-dressed and tousle-headed. She hoped they appreciated it.

If Kirlin did appreciate it, he did all in his power to avoid showing it. He swallowed so hard when she opened the door, she worried briefly that he had swallowed his tongue. “It is quite early, Captain,” she said. “May I ask your business?”

“Um, well…” He cleared his throat hard. “The Queen sent me.” He was very emphatically looking past her.

“So the Queen has summoned me?” She moved her head in an attempt to meet his eyes, but every time she came close, they darted elsewhere. “Very well. If you will allow me…”

“No! I mean…it isn’t you she’s summoned.” He laughed weakly. “She seemed to think I’d find Solaufein here.”

And she had sent poor, hapless Captain Kirlin to fetch him. _Ellesime, you utter **reprobate**_. “You would, actually.” He gulped again, and that time she was sure his tongue was a casualty. “Would you mind waiting a moment, Captain?”

She left the dumbfounded young ranger at the foot of the stairs, and found Solaufein up and already partly dressed. “You heard, I assume?”

“Her Majesty has a cruel streak, it seems,” he said, fastening his trousers. “Have his eyes popped out of his skull entirely?”

“No, but I think he’s been struck mute,” she replied, handing him his shirt.

“That will keep him from asking awkward questions, I suppose. Though I doubt it will last.” He shook his head as he pulled on his boots, and faced her when he stood. He took her hand in his with a small, awkward smile. “And now I do not want to go,” he said in a whisper.

“Nor do I want you to.” She was painfully aware of the warmth of his hands, and the fresh memory of them sliding down her sides made her shiver. How unfair, to be forced back to the mundane after experiencing something extraordinary.

“Would you like me to return this evening?” he asked quietly.

She nodded. “Very much.”

“Then I will.” He stared at their hands, absorbed by the contrast in tone. “How do…how do we go about this now?”

“Much the same as we have, I think. After all, we have not become different people in the night, have we?”

“I have seen another side of you,” he said, unable to help himself. She made a face at him.

“I have not forgotten my promise of revenge, you know.”

His smile softened. “No, we have not changed at all.” His gaze returned to their joined hands. “But in all seriousness, Demin, I understand that there are...formalities among your people. I do not pretend to make any sense of the rituals that seem to accompany coupling here, but if you wish me to-”

“Solaufein.” She stopped him with a finger to his lips. “I told you last night – I want you to be comfortable.”

He pursed his lips against her finger; she smiled and lowered it. “I am comfortable now,” he said.

“I am glad,” she replied, her smile coloring with relief. “Please understand - I want nothing from you that would be born of a sense of obligation. I do not think attempting to follow the route taken by others will bring us to a destination that either of us find pleasing.”

The precipice was long gone, he thought – there was no going back now, not that he would want to. The fall that been better than he had dared hope. Their only recourse was to see where this new path led. He leaned in, and kissed her gently, running his hands down her back to pull her closer. They stood quietly together, enjoying how pleasant it was simply to be near one another. Time began to drift, and he forced himself to take a step back. “The longer I keep Kirlin waiting, the more fantastic his imaginings will be.”

“And the morning worship will be upon us shortly.” Demin smiled at him again. “It is always good to remember that there are things more important than ourselves.”

Yet another thing one would never hear a priestess of Lolth say. “Indeed.” He gave her a small nod, and turned for the door, certain that if he did not leave now, he would never be able to manage it.

Kirlin watched him descend the steps with stunned eyes, and followed him out the front door in stupefied silence. He trailed along behind, at an obvious loss, and when he finally opened his mouth, Solaufein held up a warning hand. “No, Kirlin.”

“I just-I didn’t…”

“ _No._ _”_

“I’m not asking you to kiss and tell!”

“Good. I intend to do neither with you.”

“But you have to at least tell me-”

“No, I don’t.”

Solaufein swept up the steps towards the temple, leaving Kirlin scowling at his back. Sometimes, it can be more satisfying to swear in another language than one’s native tongue, and Kirlin hurled his favorite Common invective at the departing drow.

“Jerk!”

⁂⁂⁂

The Queen looked up as Solaufein, freshly changed and neatened, was shown into her office. “Good morning, Solaufein. I trust you are well rested?”

There was not a hint of mockery in her voice. Only the tiny spark of merriment in her eyes betrayed her. “You knew,” Solaufein said flatly. She raised her eyebrows innocently, and he crossed his arms. “You asked me to take her home last night because you knew what would happen if I did.”

“Solaufein, please. I am not prescient.” He looked unconvinced and she gave an artful shrug. “It simply seemed to me that, given the opportunity, the two of you might finally _do_ something instead of continuing to pine for one another. I was frustrated just observing; I can only imagine how you felt.” He sighed, and her smile grew gentle. “Demin is…most unique. I had begun to worry she might never find another to match her. Then you appeared.”

Solaufein’s eyes dropped sheepishly. It had taken them months to sort it out, but the Queen had known from the beginning. How humiliating. “I…do not know what to say to that, Your Majesty.”

“Forgive me,” Ellesime said. “I did not mean to embarrass you. Please, have a seat.” He obeyed, sitting nervously on the edge of one of her overstuffed chairs. He’d never allowed himself to sit in her presence before. She sat opposite him, her smile faded into solemnity. “I would that we could sit here as friends, and speak of our admiration for her. I know without a doubt that your attachment to her is very strong, and if not for this current cloud that overhangs us, I would simply take that knowledge and be glad of it. But I cannot.” She leaned forward. “I must know your mind in the matter of the prisoner Latiel.”

He swallowed, remembering the flash of anger he had felt the night before in the stairhall, and how his chest had ached at the sound of Demin’s brokenhearted weeping. Her trust had been betrayed, and Latiel had to answer for that. He _needed_ to see her answer for it. She deserved to know the suffering she had caused, and he wanted her to feel every second of it. He could say he sought justice, and the return of appropriate order to the city, but he had recently begun to try not lying to himself, and such a statement would most surely be untrue. He cleared his throat, and feigned indifference, hoping the Queen could not read him as clearly now as she had before. “What is there to say? I trust you will deal with her as you see fit.”

A quick look at her face made it apparent she was not buying what he had to sell. “I am not yet entirely set upon the form of her punishment, but punishment there will be, make no mistake. I must be cautious that my own sense of offense in this matter does not carry me away, and I am hopeful you are of a like understanding.”

He tried for a feeble, dismissive chuckle. “Do you fear that I will seek to steal her from her prison and dispatch her myself, Your Majesty?”

Her expression did not change. “Should I?” He looked away again, abashed, and she said softly, “When one’s heart is touched by the crimes of another, one’s judgment is suspect. I know that all too well.”

“Do not fear for my judgment,” he muttered. “I will abide by yours. You have my word.”

“Very well. I will be calling for a meeting of court to be held in three days’ time. Latiel’s crimes will be heard then, and sentence will be passed.” She moved her head to meet his downcast gaze. “I hope this will grant you ease, Solaufein. Your peace of mind is important to me, you know. Not just because of your role in these unfortunate events, but because I value your counsel and insight. And of course…for Demin’s sake.”

“Peace of mind is something I have done well enough without in the past, Your Majesty. I will manage.”

She inclined her head, then tilted it thoughtfully. “Sometimes, certain fortifications become obsolete, when the threats they once guarded against are lost to time. When that occurs, it is best to repurpose them that they might better suit their changed circumstance.” Her eyes unnerved him, and Solaufein ducked their gaze once more. “But that is never an instantaneous process. You may go, Solaufein. If there is anything you wish to speak of, I am always here to listen.”

⁂⁂⁂

Demin passed through the morning worship in a fog, and hated herself for it. She prayed Rillifane would forgive her inattentiveness, but she could not help it. Walking into her office that morning had hurt – Latiel’s small desk sat in its usual scrupulously neat fashion, as if nothing had changed. The Oakheart would be back in just a moment or two, it seemed to say. _Former_ Oakheart, she had reminded herself, and the thought bit deep. As the worship service drew to its close, she scanned the faces of the gathered priesthood, and in each set of eyes, she saw the same question that echoed in her own mind: What now?

The last time she had stood before them like this, there had been fire in her heart. She had looked out over the gathered priests and chastised them all for Latiel alone had done. And Latiel had stood among them, listened to it all, and said not a word. _When did this happen, Latiel?_ she asked in the silence of her thoughts. _When did we cease to know each other?_ She swallowed, took a deep breath, and tried to speak.

“Forgive me, my children. I feel as though I have disappointed you all. In failing to see the loss of faith in one so close to me, I have done her, and you, a great disservice. I do not know what else to say than that I am so very sorry.” She lowered her head, feeling her eyes sting. “I hope that you can forgive my blindness.” She closed her eyes against the tears, and waited for a reaction.  A hush hovered in the sanctum, measured out by heartbeats, and finally, she heard a voice.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, Whiteleaf.” She looked up, and saw the speaker, a junior priest recently returned from a season with an adventuring company, step to the front of the crowd. “Anybody who blames you for what happened is a short-sighted fool.” This was directed over his shoulder, and few towards the back shifted their weight.

“Rillifane’s grace is still with you,” Silverbark Tafaelen said steadily from his habitual spot near the acolytes. “As long as you are sufficient for the Leaflord’s work, you are sufficient for us.”

“We’re all to blame,” said another priestess, her voice wavering unhappily. “You weren’t the only one she fooled.” Heads nodded in agreement.

Demin sighed deeply, her heart eased, as much as it could be, by the words of encouragement. “I do not know how the Queen will proceed in the matter of our former sister, but rest assured that when I am made aware, you will as well. I thank you all for your words, and I will honor them with my actions. You are dismissed. Let us take comfort in our service.”

The priests departed, scattering to their various duties about the temple, but Demin remained in the sanctum for a while longer, staring at the altar. “’You weren’t the only one she fooled,’” she repeated to herself quietly. “Cold comfort is better than none at all, I suppose.”

⁂⁂⁂

Solaufein found himself near the practice rings that afternoon. They were empty, the morning drills long since done. He stood at the silent rail, and realized, staring blankly at the raked dirt, that he was sorry he’d missed them. Completely without intention, he’d come to enjoy his work with Kirlin. How strange it was, not just to be on the surface at all, but to have a use here. And when was the last time he’d had a headache? He couldn’t quite remember. As if to emphasize the point, the daylight dimmed as a cloud moved over the sun. The first time he had witnessed that, he had started with surprise, but now he didn’t even flinch. It remained a strange phenomenon, but one no longer worthy of alarm. Maybe some day he’d be able to look up at the sky without feeling dizzy.

He could look at himself now, and see the alterations between who he had been when he first made his way out of the tunnel from the Stair and who he had become, and face those changes with relative equanimity. He had left so much behind, and found that there was little enough that even worth missing. But in the depths of his heart, something hard and frozen remained, a dagger of ice meant for one very specific target.

The thought dug at him, a needle under the skin that jabbed with every movement. He wanted to be true to his word. He had promised the Queen she had nothing to fear from him. In three days, she would make her judgment, and he had promised that he would be satisfied with it. It would be over then, wouldn’t it? And perhaps then this ridiculous and irrational desire to keep Demin from harm would be sated, he told himself – it wasn’t as if she needed his protection. The Leaflord himself held her in his hand; what could one all too mortal foreigner offer her?

But it didn’t matter. He could see it now. Where once he had given himself wholeheartedly to the defense and honor of Ust Natha, now a city of trees and light, and a sharp-witted, gentle-hearted priestess had replaced the depths. He would have done anything in the service of the Matrons, without question or doubt, and he had. And now he understood that he would do the same here. For Demin’s sake, he would kill the traitor so slowly she would not even know she was dying until the pain ceased.

Had he really changed so much after all?

Hours slipped by, and the sky darkened in the east. Night came earlier now, each day shortening by fractions as the year wound to its end. Demin had explained the process to him, and it made perfect logical sense, but the idea of having no control over the amount of light one received at any given time struck him as unfair. But as he understood it, not having the sun to measure time by unnerved surfacers, so he supposed it evened out in the end. And as the sun sank, the moon climbed after it, and that at least, he could appreciate. It hung behind the bare branches, huge and yellow, arresting the eye with its luminance.

He knew he would have a better view from the temple, and he set off, up a broad walkway, around a spiraling staircase, and across the open platform to the temple doors, drawn on by the brightening moonlight. In short order, he found himself emerging onto a well-known balcony, and had to chuckle at that. “Did you lead me here, my Lady?” he asked the evening sky. “Is there something you wanted me to see?” There was something familiar about the color of the light. It reminded him of something; he couldn’t quite put his finger on what… And then he knew.

The globe lamp in Phaere’s quarters, with its frosted shade, had shone with that same silvered yellow light. He could see it there, in his mind’s eye, and her as well, glowering in her favorite chair, irritation set between her elegant eyebrows. She glanced up at him. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“You’re laughing at me.”

 _Only internally._ “Am I?”

“Don’t,” she warned. “I know you better than that.”

He let the smile slip through. “I’m sorry. But if I don’t let myself see the humor in the situation, I’ll only be left with horror. You see my dilemma.” She snorted sourly. “Phaere, you slapped a favored daughter of House Lada’ss, right across the face like a slave, in front of at least a dozen witnesses.”

“Only because she couldn’t keep her hands where they belonged.”

“I could have handled it.”

“I don’t want to share you!” she snapped, pushing herself to her feet more forcefully than necessary. Solaufein glanced away.

“I don’t especially want to be shared,” he admitted quietly.

Phaere sighed, then looked up at him, her lavender eyes frank. “To be honest, my first instinct was to kill her for it. But I knew you wouldn’t want me to. And for some reason, your opinion matters.” She shook her head, but there was fondness in her smile. “Irritating _jaluk_. At any rate, I have to go,” she said. “Mother’s summoned me to the temple – no doubt to lecture me yet again about wasting all my time on one male.”

“Then I’ll see you when she’s said her piece?”

Her smile turned teasing. “Don’t you always?”

But he hadn’t. He’d never seen that Phaere again.

Solaufein blinked, and the light was just the moon again, slowly ascending the sky. Strange. He couldn't remember the last time he’d had a headache, and he couldn't remember the last time it had hurt to think of Phaere. Life adapts, he’d been told, and he had thought at the time that such adaptation must be a conscious choice. But it happened quite on its own, didn’t it? He gave his head a shake to clear it, realizing how late it had become. This was the present, not the past, and someone was waiting for him.

⁂⁂⁂

“You are being absurd,” Demin lectured herself over the remains of her dinner. “You are a grown female, not some love struck adolescent, and if you cannot do without him for a day, you are in a sad state indeed.” She clanked her fork into her plate just to drive the point home, then let it slip from her fingers with a clatter as she covered her face, heaving a sigh. Unfortunately, no matter how much sermonizing she directed at herself, she missed Solaufein, and that was deeply annoying. The thought of seeing him again that evening had been the bright spot she clung to through the day, through the endless procession of visitors, questioners, and would-be sympathetic ears that had tramped through the temple. Everyone thought she needed to hear their expressions of shock and horror, everyone wanted her to know she had their support, and everyone was very carefully angling for a bit of gossip to take home. And even though Elhan, come to inform her of Ellesime’s calling of the court, had gently offered her dinner and a few hours respite at his home, by the end of the day, all she wanted was to be alone.

Alone with Solaufein, anyway.

Her hands dropped from her face, and she thumped her head against the kitchen table. “Idiot,” she muttered. She had said it herself that morning; there was no way this could be anything resembling a typical elvish courtship, so there was no point in having any of the associated expectations. It was so much easier said than done. She sighed again and knocked her forehead against the table once more for good measure before standing to deal with the washing up. “Idiot.”

It felt easier, she supposed, to be irritated with herself for something small and personal, rather than spend too much time reflecting on the larger troubles outside her door. In three days, Latiel would face an accounting for what she had done. It wouldn’t end there, of course; who truly knew what ripples she had caused, and when they would find their way to shore, and where that shore would be? No, Ellesime’s judgment would not be the end. But it gave the appearance of one, and until then, they all held their breath.

She had just emptied the washbasin when she heard a noise from the front of the house. Investigation revealed nothing in the sitting room, and just as she reached for the front hall door, it swung open. Had she been a cat, she would have attached herself to the ceiling.

“Solaufein!” She clapped a hand over her suddenly racing heart. “You startled me.”

“Forgive me,” he said softly. “I’m sure you were expecting me sooner.”

“Well, I…” She didn’t want to say that yes, she had been, and searched for a way to respond that would not sound like a reproof. But then she noticed the thoughtful cast of his features, and cocked her head. “Is something the matter?”

“I have been thinking a great deal,” he replied, his voice pensive. She was about to ask what occupied his thoughts when he reached out, and pulled her hard against him, his face bent against her cheek. When she sighed this time, it was with a deep and grateful pleasure. _Finally_ , she thought. The embrace lengthened, and she savored it, setting the day out to sea to drift far, far away. “I realized something,” he continued quietly, “something about myself.” She lifted her head to look at him quizzically as he withdrew from her arms. “I hate Latiel for her betrayal of your trust. And times past, I would have…well, I’m not sure I _could_ do here what I would have. I doubt surfacers make the implements.” He met her eyes hesitantly, afraid to continue, but determined nonetheless. “I could do such terrible things in your name. And there is a part of me that desperately wants to.”

She swallowed dryly and tried her voice. “But I see this thought gives you no pleasure.”

He shrugged uneasily. “I thought I had lost my taste for blood. Even before I left the Underdark, when I found Lady Silverhair, I was finally able to accept that I no longer had a stomach for the excesses of my people. But now I see it was not as fully expunged as I had thought.” She glanced at the floor, unsure of an appropriate reaction, and he added, “But what makes it most unpalatable is that I know you would not want me to. You never would. And the only thing worse than seeing another cause you pain would be to inflict it myself.”

She looked up at him again. “And that knowledge stays your hand?”

“I could never forgive myself otherwise.”

“How strange,” she murmured, lifting her hand to touch his cheek, “that you have known me not even a year, and you have come to this conclusion, where others of far longer acquaintance seem ignorant of it.”

He had no immediate reply, and they stood silently for a moment until he asked, “So having confessed my bloodlust, am I still welcome in your bed?” The question was both a jest and deadly serious, and she nodded to acknowledge the latter while smiling for the former.

“You are still welcome everywhere.”

He nodded slowly, processing that, then smiled back, some of his familiar impudence stealing back into his face. “Is that so? What am I to do with such…open hospitality?”

If this was to be their baseline now, she could grow very, very fond of it. She shot him a sly look. “I hope you would presume on it.” She caught her fingers on the hem of his tunic and gave it a meaningful tug. “Frequently, if necessary.”

He pretended to think about that, nudging her towards the divan. “That is good to know. I always prefer to do what is expected of me.”

“Within reason, I hope?” She still had a firm grip on his tunic, and pivoted on her foot, half-pushing, half-pulling him around her. The motion sent him backwards, and he sat heavily on the divan, smiling up at her as he seized her waist to pull her after him.

“Within…certain bounds.”

“I will keep that in mind,” she said, reciprocating his smile. She leaned in to kiss him, but he stopped her short, his face serious once more.

“Demin, I know that you said that there is no need for any of the conventions of surfacer relationships with us, but if you will let me, I would like to try my hand at one.” She raised her eyebrows in anticipation. “I understand that a declaration of one’s feelings is considered appropriate, so I…” He moved his mouth, trying to order his words, and then finally gave a small, hapless shrug and chuckle. “I am yours,” he said simply. “And whatever should come of this between us…I want you to know that.”

She blinked at him, caught off guard by both the sudden tightness of her throat and the intensity of his eyes. “And I am yours,” she replied gently, then moved her shoulders with self-deprecating levity. “If you will have me, of course.”

His brow creased, baffled. “If _I_ will have…” The expression grew cunning, and he pointedly tightened his hold on her waist. “I thought I was about to.”

She laughed, the longest and most genuine laugh she’d had in days. If laughter could heal the heart better than any magic or medicine, then he was truly a gift from the gods. “Well?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. “Are you?”

Her smile was playful, and his hands had not moved. She leaned close, and just before their lips met, he whispered, “As often as I may.”


	11. The Third Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Another tragedy falls on my head.”_

They had not bothered to attempt the stairs; Solaufein had simply scooped her up and headed across the hall to make use of the guest room bed. Demin had laughed that it had never been used for anything other than rest, and he had responded that more of her furniture would require an expansion of function in the near future. One item down, they lay sprawled together, enjoying the quiet, until Solaufein sat up. “I should go,” he said.

Demin rolled onto her side, perplexed. “You don’t have to.”

“I know that. But it does not change the fact that I should.” The crease in her brow deepened. “Demin. You know my spending the night here will increase the odds that we will be found out.”

“‘Found out’? You make it sound as if we are doing something wrong.”

“Wouldn’t you say that, in the eyes of many here, we are?”

She sighed. Objectively, he was right. As usual. “I do not care for dignifying such narrow-mindedness.”

To her surprise, he smiled. “Strange, contrary female. Of course you wouldn’t. But allow me a question. Why do you feel it narrow-minded? If you recall, you were not at all pleased to make my acquaintance that first night. I think you would have been perfectly willing to do me an extraordinary amount of violence, if not for Maera’s intervention.”

She chuckled sheepishly. “I was rather strident, wasn’t I?”

“I looked up at you, standing there at the top of the stairs, your hair falling around your lovely face…and my first thought was, ‘So this is how I am going to die.’” She covered her face in good-humored embarrassment, and he laughed, then sobered. “But you did not answer my question.”

“I suppose,” she said, lowering her hands, “that it was when Rillifane cast the rest of the drow from the sanctum, but bid you to stay. That was when I knew that everything you had said was true.” She saw then where his question had been leading, and added, “But not everyone in this city has had the benefit of such an experience.” He nodded. “That was only its beginning, you know. The Leaflord’s approval gave me cause to set aside prejudice, but you yourself gave me cause to care. And there are others who have warmed to you, who recognize you as a person and not merely a symbol. It is simply a matter of time.”

He stood, reaching for his clothes. “That may be.” He did not sound overly convinced. “But while we wait for my charm to win the hearts of Suldanessellar, it is best that I do not compromise you publicly.”

She sat up, pulling the sheet around her as she drew her knees to her chest. “I understand, but…I hate the thought of keeping you a secret. It seems like a denial. A diminishment of your worth. It is as if I am saying that I am ashamed of you, and I am not.”

Her words set wheels in motion in his head; she could almost hear them clicking away as he dressed. “That is…an interesting perspective,” he said slowly. “I had never thought of it in those terms. But I know you are not ashamed of me. And I do not mind being your secret if it helps to protect you from ill will. I will not be the reason others disdain you.”

She snorted bitterly, her opinion of those ‘others’ well established, then sighed once more. “It’s all very logical, isn’t it?”

“Only partially. I can think of no quicker route to self-loathing than being the cause of other’s contempt towards you, and that has nothing to do with logic.” He sat on the edge of the bed, smiling artfully. “However, that does not mean that I will not take every opportunity I find to privately express my appreciation of you.”

She couldn’t help but smile back. “I am already discovering that I very much approve of your expressions of appreciation.”

He kissed her, chuckling, and bid her good night, and from the sitting room window, she watched him walk back towards the temple. It struck her as terribly unfair; he had been forced to love in secret before, bound by the backwards attitudes of the Underdark, but now the surface was proving no better. She sighed to herself as she climbed the stairs to her lonely bed. Even if she could shout from the high boughs how she felt about him, she wasn’t sure what she would say. None of the usual names for a paramour seemed to fit. There would likely never be a term that perfectly described who he was to her, or what they had. But as she lay down and pulled the covers about her, she realized there was one word that served both admirably.

“Good night, love,” she murmured.

⁂⁂⁂

“Sooooooo…”

Solaufein raised an eyebrow at Kirlin, who was trying so hard for casual he had actually passed it several leagues back, managing to bypass both indifference and nonchalance on the way. “Yes?”

“About yesterday…”

“The weather was quite fine, wasn’t it?”

Kirlin gave up on casual, veering directly into perturbation. “Stop that!”

Solaufein tried not to roll his eyes. “You do realize the Queen was having a laugh at your expense, don’t you?”

“Yours too, apparently. And I can’t very well take it out on her, can I?” Kirlin grumbled sulkily. “Come on, Solaufein, you owe me.”

“This is hardly the conversation to be had here.” Solaufein glanced significantly towards the sparring soldiers in the ring before them.

“Fine. We break at noon. You can tell me then.”

“I really don’t see why it’s that important.”

“How can you not? This is enormous.”

“For me, perhaps, but unless you’re trying to get invited into the arrangement, I’m not sure why it would be to you.”

Kirlin’s face went scarlet. “That is not what I meant!” The soldiers nearest the rail faltered momentarily, then redoubled their drills when he gave them an acidic glare.

“Very well,” Solaufein sighed. “At noon, I will attempt to explicate the matter in a way that does not leave you dead of embarrassment.”

An hour later, the midday break was called, and Kirlin hustled Solaufein back to his quarters. “No alcohol,” Solaufein said firmly. “You will never get me drunk again, Captain.”

“I wasn’t going to try,” the ranger said, holding up his hands in innocence. “This was just the nearest place where we wouldn’t be overheard. I’m not fishing for details, Solaufein – that’s private, of course. But…the last time we talked about it, you seemed to think she didn’t return your feelings, or if she did, that nothing would come of it. Obviously, something did, and…you seem happy. I’m your friend, and friends talk about things that make them happy. Even when one of them’s being an ass,” he added grouchily.

Solaufein shook his head in amazement. His young friend really was astounding. “Fair enough. I apologize, Kirlin. I was being needlessly difficult.”

“Yes, you were.”

“All right, then, we are in agreement. As for your question: For reasons I cannot entirely fathom or comprehend,” Solaufein said, shrugging self-consciously, “she does love me. And we have…acknowledged our feelings for one another.” He smiled to himself. “Repeatedly.”

Kirlin looked pained. “I said I didn’t need details, remember?”

“What are you so squeamish about?” Solaufein strove to keep the scorn out of his voice, and almost succeeded. “She is an adult, and I am hardly her first lover.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m comfortable thinking about her in that context, you know,” Kirlin huffed. Solaufein rolled his eyes.

“Surfacers.” He sighed, and folded his arms. “You understand, of course, that your discretion is just as important now, if not more so. It would not be in her best interest for the nature of our…” He groped for the right word. “…relationship to become common knowledge.”

“I completely understand. I can keep a secret.”

“Good, because if you cannot, friend or no, I will cut your throat.”

“I know.” Kirlin sighed, having long since accepted the need to be ready to make peace with his gods. “I know you will.”

⁂⁂⁂

Not having a secretary was irksome. Demin knew that in a few days, she would need to begin the search for a replacement, and the thought of having to learn the strengths, weaknesses, quirks and idiosyncrasies of someone new gave her a shudder. Then she felt guilty for being concerned with such a small and petty problem when the reasons for it were so terrible.

A knock sounded lightly on the open door, and she looked up from her desk to see Elhan. “You need a gatekeeper, Demin. Any fool can come stumbling in here now.”

She let herself smile at him. “Are you volunteering for the position?”

“Good gods, no. I’d rather clean an orc’s midden.”

“As usual, I am touched by your high opinion of me,” she laughed. She stood, and clasped his offered hand. “What can I do for you, Elhan?”

“You can accept the dinner invitation you demurred yesterday. Solitude does you no good at a time like this.”

She was most emphatically not going to him she hadn’t been alone – she had no doubt the resulting damage to his skull would resemble the aftermath of a wizard’s duel. In this case at least, Solaufein had been correct on the matter of discretion. She opted for humor. “Is Ehlya truly that worried that I haven’t been eating?”

“She is wont to fret over other’s diets,” Elhan allowed. “But that is not the only reason. She wants to speak with you, Demin. We both do.”

Elhan was, by nature, a serious individual. But there was severity in the line of his brow, unusual in its degree, that sent a shiver of nervousness down her spine. She bit her lip and nodded. “All right. Tell her to set an extra place. I will be there after the evening worship.”

After the rites had ended, as the sun set, Demin descended the three levels down to Elhan’s home, where he greeted her at the door. Dinner was almost ready, he informed her, and they both knew better than to interfere in Ehlya’s domain. The only thing she took more seriously than her cooking was her craft. Elhan’s wife was a high-ranking member of the Jeweler’s Guild; she had made the holy symbol that hung at Demin’s neck, as well as jewelry for Ellesime herself.

In was less than a quarter hour, she had poked her head into the sitting room to inform them that dinner was served, and presided over the table with her usual ebullience. She turned her quick, detail-catching eyes to Demin and said, “Demin, you seem uneasy. Is something wrong?”

“Well…Elhan said there was something you wished to discuss with me. And I’m afraid that after the last several weeks, I cannot hear such a request and not think of the worst case.”

Ehlya sighed with disappointment. “Elhan. You scared her.”

“Didn’t mean to,” he said around a bite of bread.

“There is something I feel you need to know, but it is not so pressing that you cannot enjoy a meal with friends. It has been far too long since you dined with us, Demin.”

Demin smiled at her full plate, feeling rather silly for her worry. “It has, yes.”

“And dinner is always so much livelier when you are here.” Ehlya bought her hands together as an idea struck her. “You know, we should have invited your friend Solaufein as well!”

Mouth opened to reply, Demin hoped desperately that she wasn’t blushing. She was rescued by Elhan, who pointed a stern finger at his wife. “No. You have not had to listen to them hurl witticisms at each other as if it were some sort of competition. I beg you, Ehlya, do not subject me to it at my own table.”

Ehlya shrugged, unruffled. “Sounds entertaining to me.”

The matter glossed over, they continued their meal in peace and good humor. But as Elhan refilled their wine glasses, Ehlya looked up from hers, a gravity equal to her husband’s in her eyes. “You’ve kept so much to yourself lately, Demin. Such isolation has not been your practice in years past.”

“Years past have seen considerably less turmoil,” Demin said, eyes lowered. “One misfortune set upon by another. I had thought to begin cleaning away the muck stirred up by Irenicus’s return only to find a thorn in my very heart.” She took a resolute breath and looked up. “But Ellesime’s judgment is two days hence. Perhaps after that I may feel more at liberty to complete that process.”

Ehlya glanced at Elhan, the corner of her mouth pulling unhappily. “You may find yourself tasked with facing it again sooner than you would like.”

Demin took a drink of her wine to steady herself. “Why do you say that?”

“I can repeat only what I have heard with my own ears, and bear in mind, it is Guild talk – hyperbolic by its very nature. But you must know, Latiel’s actions have shaken many.”

“Of that I am sure.”

“Frankly,” Elhan said, “I am not sure it would do so to the extent it has if not for her vocation. Solaufein is…tolerated, by and large, but I don’t think an attempt on his life would have raised as much in the way of outrage if she were not a priest.”

Demin nodded slowly. “It is a troubling thing to see a priest fall. The temple has been very unsettled in the past few days because of it.”

“Unsettled is a very good word for it,” Ehlya said. “The knowledge that a full-fledged Oakheart could be capable of an act that would cause the Leaflord to withdraw his grace has proven disturbing. For most, that seems to be the extent of their feelings on the matter. They are shocked and saddened, but content to let blame rest on her shoulders where it belongs. But…some others seem to feel Latiel’s crime a symptom of a deeper disorder.”

Demin swallowed hard. “What do you mean?”

“I have heard a few express that perhaps they should have listened to Master Favelien.” Ehlya glanced down at the table, clearly uncomfortable in her role as the bearer of ill tidings. “You have been the greatest champion of Solaufein’s right to remain here, and yet your own aide sought his death and fell in consequence. Perhaps, those voices say, the Magister was right about you after all.”

“Right that I make poor decisions and cannot be trusted with the true burdens of my position,” Demin murmured. “I see. Another tragedy falls on my head. The first took a century to blossom. Who knows what consequences this one will have?”

“Which is why we wanted to alert you now,” Elhan said. “So that you may be aware, and take steps to protect yourself if need be.”

“I’m very sorry, Demin,” Ehlya said softly.

She had hoped never again to feel that cold, stony sensation in the pit of her stomach, the hateful blend of shame and anger. But it was too soon, and too foolish, to think it all be set aside so easily. “No, Ehlya. I thank you. Both of you. It is better to know.”

⁂⁂⁂

The morning of the court’s meeting dawned sharp and cold, but Demin had already preceded it. She splashed a bit of water on her face, watching the air melt from gray to gold. Though she had no role in the proceedings that morning, she would at least put in a good appearance. Her full robes were a given, but today, she would wear them open, over her armor. If they want a fight, they will see that I am ready.

The palace doors were thrown open, and a dais had been raised on the court platform before them. Too many people were expected for the pronouncement to occur in the throne room. There simply wouldn’t be enough room.

Within an hour, the platform began to fill. Demin took her usual place to the left of the engraved chair that would serve as Ellesime’s throne. Elhan, in his finest chain, surcote freshly pressed, stood to the right. The lines formed to either side, mimicking the established order within the throne room – the guildmasters, the priests, the wizards of the Collegium, the upper echelon of the Guard. Standing beside Kirlin, choosing very pointedly not to lurk out of sight, she saw Solaufein, and her heart swelled with an unexpected surge of pride. He deserved to be where he could be seen, an acknowledged part of the city. He still went without arms or armor, but there was something vaguely uniform-like in the cut of his coat. He too had weighed the message his garb would send. Their eyes met briefly, and he nodded to her before looking away.

It was a start.

Beyond an open space marked out by a row of the Guard, the people of Suldanessellar gathered. There was a hum in the air, the sound of low, unhappy voices. At least there was no anger in the sound. Not like when Joneleth had been exiled. A chill colder than anything a winter’s morning could bring slipped down Demin’s spine at the memory. It had seemed then that every breath had been inhaled with rage and expelled with horror. This morning was not like that, and she thanked Rillifane for that small mercy. Sadness and disappointment were more easily cured.

The murmur of the crowd hushed as Ellesime emerged from the palace. Her back was straight, her head high, and her expression firm. She sailed up the steps onto the dais and seated herself in a graceful motion. “The prisoner will be brought forth,” she said, her voice clear and steady.

Latiel was led from the depths of the palace by a quartet of the Guard, though looking at her, slump-shouldered and wan in her plain gray dress and cloak, it seemed excessive. She kept her eyes on her feet, and the crowd was utterly silent as she walked by.

“Look at me, Latiel,” the Queen said. The former priestess hesitantly obeyed. “By your own confession, you are guilty of the attempted murder of one given sanctuary in this city. Be it known to all gathered that this is not only a crime against the life of an individual, but a direct contradiction of the Leaflord’s will, who bids all his children live in peace.” Latiel flinched, and the murmur rose slightly. Solaufein looked discomfited, aware of his obviousness, but he set his jaw.

“It is a crime not to be tolerated,” Ellesime continued. “And as such, you are no longer welcome among us. Come tomorrow’s dawn, you will be banished from this city, and from the Heartwoods entire.”

Like a cresting wave, the murmur built, heads turning with expressions of dismay and pity. Demin could only look at Latiel, and her throat tightened at the look of absolute desolation on her face. But the Queen was not finished.

“However, you are not to be merely cast out and left to wander. There is a purpose in this expulsion. Once, you enjoyed the Leaflord’s favor, and as we are all gratefully aware, he is not an unforgiving god. You will travel north, into Cormanthor, to the Tangled Trees and the temple at the Moontouch Oak. There you will present yourself as a penitent, and labor in their service. If it should please the Oak to extend his grace to you again, you may return to us.”

Latiel quickly ducked her head, but not fast enough to hide the tears streaming down her face. “Take her away,” Ellesime said. She stood, and the voices that had risen as Latiel was walked back into the palace were silent again. “This matter is now concluded. You may all go.” With that, she descended the steps, returning to the palace, and the crowd began to slowly disperse. They glanced about at one another as they shuffled back to their homes and shops, singly or in pairs, or in clumps of five or ten. A diffused unease remained, but there was still no anger. Demin breathed a sigh of relief, and Elhan offered her his arm.

“Fitting, I think, and just. Are you satisfied with this end, Demin?”

“As much as one can be, I think.” They passed a cluster of guildmasters in quiet conference, and she felt their eyes on her, but none of them seemed to be looking directly at her.

“And do you think Solaufein will be?”

She scanned the platform for him, but saw only his back, vanishing in Kirlin’s wake. “His animosity towards Latiel was never personal, and he believes in Ellesime’s authority. I believe he will be.”

Elhan nodded, and they continued across the platform, passing Favelien, who stood listening to an apparently agitated Guildmaster Kilel. He inclined his head to them before returning his attention to Kilel; the Guildmaster pointedly paused as they walked by. Demin felt her back stiffen instinctively, but Elhan treated the two males to a show of grand unconcern, barely acknowledging either.

He stopped at the juncture that would lead them in separate directions, and took her hands in his. “Demin, you know you have my support. Always.”

She thanked him, and watched him depart towards the barracks. She knew he meant well, but the words, and their implications, chilled her more than she cared to admit. She had the feeling now was not the best time to make too many promises.

⁂⁂⁂

The day was strange; it seemed the city had, by mutual agreement, decided to pretend everything was perfectly normal, and no one wanted to be the one to point out just how abnormal it truly was. There was false brightness in every conversation, counterfeit good cheer in every exchange, and by the time she went home that evening, Demin had a pounding headache. She took a long swig of the vile tonic Novian’s druids made, and lay on the sitting room divan, trying to decide if eating would actually be worth the effort. She was leaning towards no when she heard a light knock at the door. Muttering to herself, she got up to answer it.

It was Solaufein. “I thought you might want me to stay tonight,” he said softly.

She smiled, and let him in.


	12. Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“This is my home.”_

Reverie was a strange thing, an experience that Solaufein was still learning to fully appreciate. Sensations filtered through the veil of trance, more acknowledged than felt. He knew that he lay on his back, and that Demin was curved against him, her hand resting on his stomach. And he knew that she was aware of it, too. There was something intimate about that knowledge, in the shared experience of contact, even more so than the precious few times he had slept in the same bed with Phaere. He wondered if that was one of the reasons the Matrons scorned reverie. Intimacy was weakness, they proclaimed, nothing more than surfacer sentimentality that only served to prove how pathetic and wrong-minded outsiders really were. But if it was wrong, why did it feel so very right?

The Matrons would never know what they were missing, and that was their loss.

She shifted, and somehow, he knew that she had opened her eyes. “Solaufein,” she murmured. “We should get up.”

He roused himself and nodded. He had offered to stay the night because he _had_ wanted to offer her comfort and company after an exhausting day, and she had readily availed herself of both. But there had been an element of calculation in his design - this morning they would be leaving early enough that the chances of him being seen were slim, and he had made sure to bring fresh clothing to avoid raising any suspicions. It was not a perfect system, and would no doubt require some refinement, but he was sure that with a little practice, they could develop something workable. He glanced at Demin, who sat up, her face still and distant. He touched her shoulder.

“Will you be relieved when she is gone?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Perhaps.”

They dressed quietly in the pre-dawn gloom, and in the stairhall, before departing into the chilly morning, she wrapped her arms around him. “I cannot think how I would have borne these past weeks without you,” she said softly. “Thank you.”

“If not for me, none of this would have happened, so I am not sure you should thank me.”

She raised an eyebrow, but her expression made it clear that, for once, she did not feel like arguing. “You were the catalyst only. No one forced Latiel to do what she did. Better to know what is in someone’s heart, even if it is bitter knowledge.” She inhaled a deep, fortifying breath. “Let us be done with this.”

They descended through the city, and as he had suspected, there were very few abroad. Though the entire city knew of Latiel’s exile, only a handful knew from where her expulsion would take place, and it was there that Demin and Solaufein went, to an out-of-the-way grove outside the city gates. The Queen was there, and a few others – the three remaining Oakhearts of the temple, a haggard-looking Favelien and his most senior apprentice, Guildmaster Kilel, who had apparently been chosen to stand for all the Guildmasters, and Boughstirrer Novian. They were all silent, for there was nothing to say. As the first light of dawn was scattered through the tree branches, others approached. Elhan and two of his adjutants drew near, and with them was Latiel. She surveyed the group that awaited her, not meeting any set of eyes, until she came to Solaufein. “I suppose you win,” she said, her voice flat and resigned. “Come to gloat?”

“No,” he replied. “I am simply here to see the Queen’s justice done.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, seeking mockery in his tone that she could not find. “Why would you even care about that?”

“I have no choice but to care. This is my home.”

Demin blinked at him, trying to cloak her surprise, as a ripple of reaction passed around the small circle, ranging from pleasure to indifference to Kilel’s narrow-eyed look of disgust. An almost imperceptible smile crossed Ellesime’s face; then it vanished, and she said chidingly, “Latiel. You were not given leave to speak.”

Latiel lowered her eyes. “My apologies, Your Majesty.”

Ellesime inclined her head. “You know what you must do. You know what the conditions are for your return. It is time. Be gone.”

Once a friend, once a peer, now a stranger. Demin watched Latiel draw herself up in a pale mimicry of resolve and begin to walk northward. She wanted to pray for the safe passage of her erstwhile aide, but found no words within shape a prayer. She dropped her gaze, and after a moment, felt a hand on her shoulder. It was Novian. He gave her shoulder an encouraging squeeze.

The Magister accepted an object from his apprentice, a carved stone marker half again the size of a man’s head. He knelt to place it on the ground, reciting slippery arcane phrases, and the grooves on the stone’s surface filled with a golden light that slipped through the channels in the rock like liquid. The light pulsed for a moment, and Demin realized then why Favelien looked so pale and heavy-eyed – he had likely spent the night creating that and the seven other such stones that would mark the borders of Latiel’s exile. Sometimes, his inability to do things by halves could be turned to a productive use.

“The outcast is departed,” Ellesime said, “and the boundary is marked. Perhaps someday, she will rejoin us.” She looked around the quiet gathering, meeting each pair of eyes in turn. “You have all borne witness. Now you may go.”

Elhan bowed before her; she took his arm and the others fell into procession behind the Queen and General. Solaufein caught Demin’s eye as he followed, and she nodded before turning to face the Boughstirrer. “Not the most cheerful circumstances under which to see one another.”

He smiled slightly. “No, I had not thought we would meet again until the Budding.” There was sympathy in his ancient eyes. “You have a right to be angry with her, you know. Forgive yourself for that first. The rest will follow.”

“And what of being angry with myself?”

“That is hardly an unnatural reaction, dear one.”

She huddled deeper in her cloak. “She fell because of me, Novian.”

The old druid’s gaze sharpened. “You cannot blame yourself for her actions.”

“Can’t I? She feared so for my position that she was willing to kill Solaufein to protect me.”

“The doings of a disordered mind are not your responsibility, Demin. The Whiteleaf she would kill for was an image of her own making, not you. If she had truly known you at all, she would have understood that.”

That was not a very comforting thought either. “I know,” she sighed. “But you can’t deny that this reflects on me very poorly.”

“And when have you worried about such reflections?” Novian eyed her with concern. “Child, what troubles you?”

“Whispers of disapproval, and unfinished business.” She patted the Boughstirrer’s forearm. “The Oak willing, I will see you at the Budding, old friend. Take care until then.”

She followed the path back to the gate, ascending into the city proper, towards the Temple, and all its joys and frustrations. At the juncture that led towards the guard barracks, she saw Solaufein standing in apparent idleness, staring into the distance with bored, unseeing eyes. He focused quickly at her approach. “Were you waiting for me?” she asked, feeling the faint, welcome beginnings of a smile on her face.

“I would not say that. After all, if I happen to be loitering in a place, and you happen to pass by, is it truly waiting?”

The smile bloomed. “So you were.”

He scratched at his neck absently. “I suppose I was.”

“I cannot linger, I’m afraid.”

“I know. You are expected above, and Kirlin is waiting for me at the rings.” He lowered his voice, even though there were still few passers-by out and about at that hour. “I…wanted to see you off, I think, and wish you a good day.”

For someone who knew nothing of courting, he really was not bad at it at all. “Thank you.” A thought occurred to her, and she said quietly, “Before I go…what you said earlier, when you said this is your home. Did you mean that?”

“Of course,” he said with a shrug. “I have a use here, duties and responsibilities of a sort. A few friends, even. That is enough to make a home, isn’t it?”

She nodded, feeling a bit foolish. “I would say that it is.”

He looked around carefully, then leaned close to her ear and murmured, “But most importantly, _you_ are here. And your presence could make even the Abyss feel like a home.”

He had been looking to surprise her, and her startled, pleased blush was obviously the victory he sought. He smiled roguishly at her, and she longed to kiss him, but knew she could not. She settled for clasping his hand and telling him good day, vowing internally she would have avenge herself on him at the earliest opportunity. And she would make sure he enjoyed every minute of it.

She had little time for mental wickedness, however. The torrent waited just within the temple doors, and she threw herself into it. The air had comforting hum to it; she was heartened by the way in which her fellow priests had rallied together, determined to show Latiel’s fall as the aberration it was, and their renewed sense of strength bolstered her own. The evening rites were somewhat more heavily attended than was typical, but that did not surprise her, given the past week, and after the service, she returned to her office to put the finishing touches on the day.

“Did you hear that?” An indignant male voice carried through the open door – Felsul Kennet, she thought. “He had the nerve to call her a hypocrite!”

“Keep your voice down,” cautioned a female voice, following her own advice and being too quiet to be readily identified.

The Felsul obliged, still obviously agitated. “She is _not_ a hypocrite.”

“I know she isn’t,” agreed his companion. “The situation is completely different, but some people are seeing parallels where they shouldn’t. The best thing we can do is stay calm.” She emphasized the word pointedly, before dropping her voice even lower, almost too soft to be understood. “Her office is just down the hall, you know. We shouldn’t even be here.”

There was a murmur of agreement, and footsteps receding away. Demin stared down at the letter she had been writing and saw that a spreading ink spot, dripped from her pen while she eavesdropped, now disfigured the page. She crumpled the ruined parchment with resignation. “Unfinished business,” she sighed.

⁂⁂⁂

Solaufein’s days had developed an easy routine. Mornings and some afternoons were spent with Kirlin and his increasingly large group of trainees – General Elhan, pleased with the results the young captain (and his unofficial cohort) had achieved, had expanded his responsibilities. The Queen, in one of their regular afternoon meetings, had called it a triumph of unorthodoxy and wondered if the General was feeling well. And in the past tenday, there had been the addition of evenings with Demin, and even if only for a few hours, it was by far the best part of his day. The night before, she had asked in a moment of uncharacteristic insecurity if he was simply being kind when he paid her a post-coital compliment. He had stared at her with amused confusion.

“Why would you think that?”

She frowned at him. “There is no point in dancing about the subject, Solaufein – we both know you have had a far broader sexual experience than I.”

“And?”

“And perhaps you find my lack of sophistication charming?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is there any way that question can be answered that will not bring me to grief?” She pursed her mouth grudgingly.

“It _was_ unfair, wasn’t it?”

He nodded reprovingly. “Yes, it was,” he said and then added gently, “Demin, in the Underdark, sex is a weapon. Even more than violence, it is the favorite way to make war. It is meant to be wielded with cruelty to vanquish the weak.

“But you do not seek to defeat me. You share with me. You share yourself, in a way I have never known before. So I do not think there is as great a gap in our experience as you imagine.” She was silent then, and he chuckled. “I know that expression.”

“Do you?” she challenged.

“The compliment pleased you, and now you are irritated with me because you can no longer be irritated with me.”

She looked as if she were about to deny it, then shot him a rather wicked smile. “I suppose now would be the time to admit I rather enjoy the feeling. It is...a very pleasant sort of frustration.”

He smiled back. “We all have our perversions. And I find yours very interesting.”

“Do you?” There was an invitation in her sparkling eyes, and he answered it, tracing her jawline with his fingers.

“I do indeed,” he murmured, letting his hand skim down her throat, past her collarbone, between her breasts. “You are a book I intend to study in great depth,” he breathed in her ear, fingertips gliding along her navel. She shifted, eyes sliding closed, inhaling a deep, shivering breath. “Until I know you by heart. Chapter and verse.”

“Solaufein!”

He was jolted back to the present by a voice that was most definitely not that of his lover. He sighed. “Yes, Kirlin?”

“We were about to get started. Done wool-gathering?”

“Yes. That is what I was doing.”

Kirlin shook his head and raised his voice. “First form!” He made his usual three circuits of the ring, and when he returned to their spot on the rail, he glanced about surreptitiously. “By the way,” he said, lowering his voice more than necessary, “some of us are going to the Ivy and Thorn tonight to celebrate Naren's promotion. She doesn't know yet, so keep it to yourself.” He seemed to remember who he was speaking to. “Though I shouldn't have to tell you how to do that.”

“Indeed.” Solaufein cocked an eyebrow. “Why are you telling me?”

“Because I'm inviting you, of course.”

He suddenly felt like a simpleton. “Oh. Of course.”

“Unless you can't go. I understand if you have...other plans.”

“I don't.”

“Are you sure? I wouldn't want you to...you know, miss out on anything…or disappoint anyone.”

“I'm positive, Kirlin. My calendar is open this evening.”

“Really? Because I thought-”

“Kirlin.” Solaufein dropped his own voice, staring the younger male dead in the eyes. “My new circumstances do not mean I am suddenly incapable of being apart from her as soon as the day is done.”

“That's just how it's worked out so far?” Kirlin grinned. Solaufein decided not to answer that, in large part because he did not feel like admitting that the only reason this night was different was because it was the new moon, and Demin would be keeping vigil. He knew he could never trump the Leaflord's claim on her and had no desire to. Frankly, he thought it rather generous of Rillifane to share her at all.

That evening, he approached the Ivy and Thorn pub with some very mild trepidation. It was a popular watering spot for the Guard, owing to its proximity to the barracks and the generous tab policies of its landlord. He had taken a cursory look about it once or twice, but had never stayed to drink. Whether or not he would actually be welcome was beside the point; he had always felt like an intruder, and had not wished to see if he was correct or not. Now he was a guest. He thought about that as he lingered in the doorway for a moment, before seeking out the table surrounded by familiar faces.

“Where is the guest of honor?” he asked. The mager Velkin grinned and pushed a cup towards him.

“Captain went to fetch her. They should be here any minute.”

Not even a quarter hour later, the door opened and Naren entered, a beaming Kirlin behind her. As one, those around their table stood and saluted her, and she turned on the captain with a shocked smile. “I _knew_ you were up to something!”

Solaufein handed her a drink as she and Kirlin sat. “But somehow he managed to preserve the surprise.”

“See, Solaufein?” Kirlin was the textbook illustration of smug. “I _can_ keep a secret.”

It was surprising how easy it was. It was easy to sit at the table, drinking not wholly unpleasant surfacer wine and talking jovially about nothing in particular. And it was pleasantly odd to be a part of their circle, a foreigner only by place of birth. There had been some small bravado in his claim to Latiel that Suldanessellar was his home, but now he actually felt that it might really be true.

A few hours later, feeling thoroughly mellow, the group dispersed, divvying up the tab and weaving back towards the barracks. Solaufein bid a tipsy Kirlin good night in the common, letting the cold night air brace him for the trip back up to the temple. It was a magnificent night – through the bare branches, stars glittered in the moonless sky, and he felt a deep and surging gratitude at the opportunity to be a part of this place. Once it had seemed so alien he could hardly bear it, but now… He chuckled. Perhaps the wine was making him sentimental.

Normally, taking the back entrance was the quickest route to his room, but tonight he couldn’t help himself. The arched doors of the sanctum were open, and he could see Demin in front of the altar. He paused, studying her. The first time he had seen her at vigil, he had felt as if he were catching a glimpse of a mystery not meant for him, and he still did a little, if only because her god was not his. But that was only a small voice, one almost entirely overwhelmed by the awed knowledge that he was witnessing a part of what made her who she was. And he loved who she was, for her playful heart and her complete, almost incomprehensible honesty of spirit. He loved her beauty, and how she rarely seemed to notice how desirable she truly was. He loved her strong soul and capacity for devotion. And he loved her quick, matchless mind, even when she tried his patience and tested his understanding.

Who was he trying to fool? He loved her especially then.

“Definitely the wine,” he muttered to himself. Time to seek his bed, before he started writing her sonnets, to their mutual embarrassment.

⁂⁂⁂

She had stood on this spot all those years ago, lost and heartbroken, and begged the Leaflord for a sign. An answer for her pain, a reason to live again. He had given her one. And she returned every new moon to thank him for the resolve she had found that night, and the courage to pursue her path. Others seemed less than pleased with how she had walked that path of late, however. How much truth was she to find in their approbation?

A sense of vague exasperation washed over her, and she could not tell if it was directed at her or at those she had thought of. Perhaps both. But of one thing she was resolved: she would never bow her head again as she had under Favelien’s assault. There was a rush of approval then, buoying her determination. This time, she would give no quarter. Solaufein had praised her conviction, and she would prove him right. The way would be steep, and the going would be hard, and in her mind, she had an impression of a narrow, rocky trail. But there was a branch to it, clearly no less difficult in its passage, but leading through a winding valley, rather than a simple ascent. She felt drawn to it; it was a choice equally valid, and it seemed to her that its end destination was the same.

_The choice is not which path to take, but what lesson you will teach in the choosing_. 

The thought did not come from her own mind, but its source was just as familiar. She would ponder it the rest of the night, until morning ended her vigil.

⁂⁂⁂

Kirlin was seldom off duty on market days, so on the rare occasion that he was, he always made a point of venturing down to enjoy the day. After a half hour or so of solitary wandering, he had the pleasant surprise of running into Naren outside the semi-permanent bookseller’s stall, and they fell in together to finish their shopping. Despite the winter chill, there was, as always, a large crowd, which Kirlin liked. He was of the opinion that many of his fellow rangers took to the wilds more because of their discomfort with other people than anything else, but he was personally very fond of people, and found them just as fascinating as any other creature of nature. He had gotten into a few spirited debates with some of the druids about that.

He and Naren followed the path around Sehanine’s Mirror, the deep, spring-fed pool in the center of the market grounds that served as a sort of anchor point for the wheel-like layout of the area. They passed a cluster of guild journeymen who were engaged in a fierce debate. “The punishment should fit the crime, and it did!” one in a Weaver’s Guild tunic exclaimed.

“But did the crime fit the punishment?” his opponent, wearing the insignia of the Woodworkers, countered. “He’s just a drow, after all. The only reason he’s still here is because he’s the Queen’s pet.”

Naren stopped mid-stride, her mouth tightening. Kirlin glanced at her uncomfortably. “Let them argue, Naren,” he muttered. “We shouldn’t get involved.”

“That is _rude_ ,” she hissed.

“It’s not like he’s one of us,” continued the woodworker. “He doesn’t deserve this much uproar.”

“Rillifane obviously thinks he does,” said another weaver. “Or that priestess wouldn’t have fallen.”

The woodworker snorted derisively. “And who made that situation? The Whiteleaf. But what else should we expect from her at this point?" 

“I don’t know.” Naren, unable to contain herself, turned on the journeyman, a storm on the horizon of her expression. “Why don’t you tell us?” Kirlin winced. This was not going to end well.

Her adversary crossed his arms. “She’s the one who let the Exile live. And now she’s made another one.”

“It’s balance,” Naren retorted, mirroring him. “Like the druids say. She may have made the wrong choice with Irenicus, but she definitely made the right one this time. Besides, it was the Queen who banished Latiel, and rightly so. She got what she deserved, and that has nothing to do with the Whiteleaf.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that none of this would have happened if they’d never let that damn drow stay here in the first place. What’s so special about him anyway?”

“He shouldn’t have to prove anything to anyone. Especially not now. Not after everything he’s been through.”

“Oooooh.” The woodworker suddenly smirked. “I see. You’re one of _those_.”

“Excuse me?” The storm in Naren’s features grew close enough for lightning.

“So is it true what they say about drow? You hear all kinds of stories about the pervert things they’re into.” He shrugged and barked a hard, disdainful laugh. “Doesn’t matter. I’m sure the Whiteleaf knows."

Kirlin didn’t even realize he’d thrown the punch until his fist connected.

⁂⁂⁂

There was commotion up ahead, near the Mirror, and Demin hurried her steps towards it, a poisonous knot of worry blooming inside her. A crowd had formed, and she pushed her way through, dropping her market basket with shock at the sight before her. Captain Kirlin, his face bloodied and swelling, stood over an equally battered journeyman of the Woodworker’s Guild, while Naren gripped his arms in a restraining hold. “By the Oak, what is this?” Demin cried. The three combatants all looked at her with varying levels of horror and embarrassment. She shot them a stern stare, then turned to the gawkers. “Go about your business! This matter will be dealt with!”

“Whiteleaf,” Kirlin mumbled, “I-”

“Not a word,” she snapped. “Naren! Let him go and get the General. You!” She caught the eye of a terrified-looking Woodworker prentice who was trying his best to be inconspicuous. “Fetch your Guildmaster! Quickly!” The messengers darted off, relieved to out from under the Whiteleaf’s gaze.

She helped up the journeyman and led him and Kirlin to the partitioned back of a spice merchant’s stall. The proprietor would not have dreamed of telling her no. She put her hands on her hips, her eyes hard. “I will heal you both, but not until your masters have arrived and had a look at your sorry state. You should be ashamed.” Kirlin obviously was, but the journeyman simply glowered at her.

Elhan and Kilel arrived within moments of each other. “Open brawling in the marketplace, Captain?” the General demanded. “What in the hells were you thinking?” Kirlin, his nose still oozing a bit, muttered something. “What was that, soldier?”

“You should have heard what he said about the Whiteleaf, sir!”

Elhan raised an eyebrow, and Demin blinked. Kilel folded his arms. “So this was a religious debate gone sour?” the Guildmaster asked.

“Just expressing my opinions about recent events, master,” the journeyman said, his voice stuffy. “The Captain disagreed with me.”

“Your soldiers issue beatings to those whose views they don’t like, Elhan?”

The General scowled. “You know better than that, Kilel. Captain Kirlin will be enjoying disciplinary action for his part in this fiasco, and I would advise that you consider how best to provide the same for your young hooligan.”

“I doubt that will be necessary. After all, he was not the aggressor here.” Kilel clapped the journeyman on the shoulder; the younger male winced and rose. “We have a healer at the Guildhall. There is no need to waste any of your time, Whiteleaf.”

“My idiot captain may have struck the first blow, but there are obviously no innocent parties here,” Elhan said, glaring at the Guildmaster. “I would not want this to become a matter for the Queen.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t. After all, she might banish me, too. That does seem to be the catch-all. Serves for anything from the sacrilegious to the innocuous.”

His implication had a razor’s edge, and Demin stiffened, trying not to let him see the cut. “I would hardly call Latiel’s crime innocuous.”

“Simply a difference of perspective.”

Only her anger kept her jaw from dropping. “A rather profound one.”

The Guildmaster surveyed her for a long, cool moment. “So it seems. Come.” His journeyman limped after him, leaving the others staring after them. In her peripheral vision, Demin noticed Naren holding a handkerchief to Kirlin’s nose, and the sight of blood on the cloth brought her back to herself.

“I’m sorry, Kirlin,” she said, touching his bruised face. Her hand began to glow dimly, and she gave him a faint smile. “Defending my honor, hmm?”

“I guess so,” he muttered, beginning to look like himself again. “I’m very sorry, sir,” he said to Elhan. “I know that…wasn’t wise.”

“That is a remarkable understatement,” the General said stiffly. “Done with him, Demin?”

She took Kirlin’s right hand in both of hers. It was purple and swelling; he had obviously broken at least two of the metacarpals. “I’ll need to splint this, to be sure the bones heal straight.”

“The barracks infirmary is nearer than the Temple,” Elhan grunted. “And just as well that we go there, because the Captain will be gaining a very close knowledge of every knot in the walls of his quarters for the next few days while I decide what to do with him.” He shot an icy look at Naren, who looked as if she were trying to will herself into invisibility. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about you. You and I will be having a very long talk after I’m done with him.”

“Yes, sir,” she said meekly.

They made an interesting procession up to the barracks, garnering stares as they passed. When they reached the common, they were hailed by a familiar voice. “Kirlin?” Solaufein strode towards them, brow knit at the sight of his disheveled young friend. “What did you do?”

“It’s a long, stupid story,” Kirlin sighed.

“And one best told within doors,” Demin added.

Bones were always malleable after healing, so it was best, whenever possible, to wrap them until they had re-hardened. They retired to an empty side room of the infirmary for Demin to set about that, while Elhan and Naren filled Solaufein on the afternoon’s events.

“And you broke your hand?” Solaufein asked incredulously. “Kirlin, haven’t I taught you how to throw a punch better than that?” The young ranger grumbled, looking persecuted.

“It galls me that that fool can be called a master of anything in this city.” Elhan shook his head grimly. “More than that, it worries me how readily his juniors are parroting what he has to say, though I shouldn’t be surprised. Guild opinion is always formed from the top down. And did you notice,” he said to Naren, “that he said he was returning to his Guildhall, but he didn’t take the Guild Way back up. He took the Wizard’s Way, up to the Collegium.”

“And Favelien,” Solaufein grimaced. Elhan nodded.

“Still playing the puppetmaster, no doubt.”

“Magers enjoy that.”

“That they do. Never trust an archmage – you can’t spend that much time thinking about arcana and not go a little odd.”

Solaufein chuckled humorlessly. “That’s one way to put it.”

Demin listened with half an ear as she slowly wound the bandage around Kirlin’s hand. At any other time, she would have enjoyed seeing Solaufein and Elhan finally united in a common opinion, but a sense of disquiet gnawed at her. If Favelien was violating the spirit of their truce by using Kilel as his mouthpiece, she felt comfortable taking him to task for it. But she was not entirely sure that was the case, and even if it was, she knew she could not fight this battle with the same tactics as before. The image from her vigil was back in her mind, clear as life. Kirlin peered at her with concern in his eyes. “Whiteleaf? Are you all right?”

She shook herself and released his hand, smiling. “I am fine, Kirlin. I have simply hit upon my next step, I think.”

“What’s that?”

“I believe I will be resigning my position.”


	13. Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You have become a divisive figure of late.”_

The silence was louder than any sound Demin had ever heard in her life. It seemed almost to have physical form, like great wings hovering over them all. Four pairs of eyes fixed on her with a disbelief so total it seemed to be the sole truth of the multiverse. Finally, after the shock had stretched almost to the point of unbearability, Solaufein found his voice. “Are…are you mad?” he managed.

“Not at all.” She folded her hands, lacing the fingers together tightly. “In fact, I feel more sane than I have in some time.”

“But…” He stared at her, and there was a touch of something almost like betrayal in his confusion that sent a pang of guilt through her. “Demin… _why?_ After all this, you will simply lie down and let them claim victory over you?” The hurt sharpened, anger sparking in his eyes. “No. This is not like you. This is stupidity, and you should know better!”

“Will you be good enough to give me the opportunity to explain myself before scolding me like a child?” she shot back.

He crossed his arms. “Astound me, then.”

She did the same. “Sometimes, one must give others what they think they want in order for them to realize that it is not in their best interest. This is what they want; they shall have it. Let them be rid of me and see what it profits them!”

Solaufein stared once more, but now she could see the confusion slipping away. “I see,” he murmured. “So you will ambush them on their own ground.” He nodded, his mouth curving into a slow, admiring smile. “That will definitely teach a very pointed lesson.”

“Now do you approve?”

“I do indeed.”

“And is that not more pleasant than shouting at one another?”

His smile grew wry, as if to say that shouting could be pleasant in its own way, and she smiled back, because she would have to agree with that. She hadn’t realized they were moving towards each other until they met mere inches apart, and from there, of course, it was perfectly logical to kiss him. After all, what other action could there be, with that light in his eyes and that smile on his lips…

Elhan coughed loudly. “Well. That’s one question answered.”

They broke apart hurriedly, Demin in a heated flush of self-recrimination, Solaufein with short, sharp oath in Drow. She cast a guilty glance at their unwitting audience – Naren’s eyes were huge, Kirlin was very purposefully looking at the floor, and Elhan’s face was utterly expressionless, with the exception of the very slight twitch in his right eye. He swung his head towards the two young soldiers. “Out.” They complied, but Naren continued to stare until it was physically impossible to turn her head any further.

The General turned to Solaufein. “I don’t even know what to say to you.”

“No doubt it involves demanding my absence as well.”

“Among other things.”

“Then I will make it easier for you.” Solaufein made an almost-respectful bow in his direction, catching Demin’s eye. She sighed with a small, helpless roll of her eyes, and he smiled again, faintly and just for her, before exiting, closing the door behind him.

Elhan looked back at Demin. “You have lost your mind,” he said flatly. “You can claim sanity as long and loud as you wish, but I know the actions of a madwoman when I see them.”

She let out another sigh. This was not how she’d wanted to have this conversation, and she had no one to blame for it but herself. Apparently, the length of her discretion could be measured in entire _days_. Her only consolation was that Solaufein had kissed her back, so at least this failure of secrecy did not rest on her shoulders alone. She met Elhan’s gaze. “And on what point shall I defend myself first?”

“Scant months ago, you laughed in my face when I asked you how things stood with him. You mocked the very idea.”

“That I did.”

“What changed?”

“Not him.” She shrugged. “Only how I saw him.”

“Demin…this is not-” He took a deep, fortifying breath, obviously preparing to say something unpleasant. “This is not _sport_ , is it? Some sort of thrill seeking? I know there is an allure in the forbidden, but I would like to think that you are more sensible than that.”

She fixed him with a hard look. “No, Elhan. I am not attempting to tweak the nose of all Suldanessellar with my choice of lover. And frankly, I’m rather hurt you would think me capable of seeking to gratify myself at the expense of another!” Elhan pursed his mouth, looking uncomfortable, and she tilted her head. “Is it so difficult to believe that I might love him?”

His eyes searched her face, brow tight, and finally, he let out a long breath. “But you do, don’t you?” She nodded, and he sighed sourly. “I suppose it stands to reason. You are difficult and he is irritating. A perfect match, really.”

She mostly managed suppress her smile. “And yet I do not feel that I have your blessing.”

“Do you really need it?”

“You are my friend, Elhan. Of course I do.”

His eyes returned to their long survey of her face. “You are not a child, and you know your own mind far better than most can claim. If you say you love him and that is why you are…” he swallowed as if the word tasted bad, “…involved with him, then who am I to gainsay that?” He sighed resignedly. “Who am I ever?”

“Poor Elhan,” she said, smiling in sympathy. “You are martyred daily for the sake of us all, aren’t you?”

“It’s not right!” he exclaimed. “I had to have this conversation with Lenathia when she took up with that bard, and it was bad enough then! But at least she’s my daughter and it was my place – you’re just…” He shook his head. “Of everyone in this city, _of course_ it would be you. To think I wasted so much effort worrying about the fool youngsters mooning after him when the truth was under my nose all along.” His stance stiffened. “I do hope he knows what he’s getting into. Because if he causes you a moment’s hurt…”

The sentiment was touching, even if the mental image of Elhan berating an entirely unrepentant Solaufein made her want to snort with laughter. “So shall I warn him to expect a talk regarding his intentions?”

“Merciful gods, Demin. NO. No doubt he’d be overly honest, and then I’d have to kill him.”

“I would prefer that you not.” She touched his upper arm gently. “I thank you for your concern, Elhan, but…he has expressed strong opinions on the topic of causing me pain. I do not fear that he will.”

“There are many things you don’t fear, and it’s frequently because you don’t have the sense to,” Elhan muttered. Then his eyes softened, and he said, “I understand why you had said nothing. Particularly in light of…the issues at hand. I know I don’t have to tell you you’re taking an awful risk, and not just in your usual way.”

“I know.”

“And speaking of risks – it’s apparent Solaufein approves of your mad scheme, but will you hear out my thoughts on the matter?” She nodded, and he began to pace thoughtfully. “You _are_ right. Sometimes a shocking action is necessary; I don’t disagree with you there. Do something unexpected; throw the enemy off their balance…It’s a good tactic.” He paused mid-step, and looked back at her. “But you must be prepared for the possibility that if you leave your post, you may never regain it. Are you reconciled to that?”

_No. Not even for a moment_. She drew back her shoulders, and said softly, “I will have to be.”

⁂⁂⁂

Naren kept glancing sidelong at Kirlin as they walked down the corridor to his quarters, and his confinement. Finally, she spoke. “You knew, didn’t you? About the Whiteleaf and Solaufein.”

Kirlin sighed heavily. “I promised him I wouldn’t say anything. And he made an excellent case for why I shouldn’t. A very _pointed_ case, you might say.” It was his turn to glance uncertainly towards her. “Does it…bother you?”

“I suppose that few months ago, it might have. But being infatuated with him was just silly anyway.” She chuckled and shrugged. “So how long have you known?”

“Since the beginning, more or less. I just sort of…stumbled into it. I certainly wasn’t trying to find anything out.” She raised her eyebrows, and he gave her a very brief and oblique history of events as he’d seen them. The look on her face when he was done surprised him.

“That’s so sweet!” she cried. He blinked, nonplussed. Naren wasn’t really the sentimental type.

“I suppose it is,” he replied as they drew near his door.

“I think it’s romantic - friends realizing they’re in love.”

He blinked again, his hand on the doorknob. “You do?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well…” He flashed her a quick smile. “No reason. See you when the General lets me out.”

⁂⁂⁂

The next morning, Demin gazed at herself in the dressing table mirror, idly adjusting the holy symbol at her neck. She would shortly be presenting herself to her Queen, and it would not do to put in a poor appearance. There were times when they were the best of friends, unconstrained by formality and duty, but this could not be one of those times.

She had seen nothing more of Solaufein after their faux pas the day before, but she knew him better than to think it simple embarrassment that made him keep his distance. It was likely (and the thought made her smile) for Elhan’s benefit that he had done so, and she could appreciate that. A part of her wished that they could have spoken more about her decision, if only to help silence those last few nagging doubts in her own mind. But in the end, what more was there to say than what they already had? He was at her back, and she knew he would not waver. He was, after all, exceedingly stubborn.

She was relieved to see Naren on duty outside Ellesime’s office; that would make this easier. The younger female nodded solemnly at her approach, comprehension in her eyes. There was a feeling of conspiracy in their joined gaze, and Demin felt a quick stab of shame for putting the poor lass in the position of secret-keeper. Well, it would not be a secret much longer.

The other guard reached for the door handle, ready as usual to simply allow her entrance, but his hand was stopped halfway when she spoke. “If you would announce me, please?” He blinked at her uncertainly, but Naren intervened.

“I’ll do it.” She entered the office, and Demin could faintly hear her say, “Your Majesty, the Whiteleaf begs audience.”

There was a silence, heavy with questions and consideration, and then Ellesime replied, “Show her in at once.”

Naren opened the door wider, dipping her head as Demin passed her. “The Whiteleaf, Your Majesty.” She kept her head bowed as she withdrew, closing the door firmly behind her.

Ellesime was seated, her face still and neutral. But her eyes were sharp, and one golden eyebrow was ever so slightly lifted. It gained elevation as Demin bowed deeply before her. “Your Majesty, I have come to inform you of my decision to step down from my position as Whiteleaf. It has been my very great honor to serve the Leaflord in that capacity, but I feel that I can no longer.” She couldn’t make herself raise her eyes. She couldn’t bring herself to look at her friend. But she could feel the weight of the green-gold stare, and Ellesime’s silence was absolute.

“This is a heavy decision, Whiteleaf,” the Queen said slowly. “I hope it was not made in haste, or under any sort of duress.”

Very carefully, Demin lifted her gaze. “It was spurred by revelation, so one might call it hasty. But I feel it the best option for maintaining the peace and equanimity of the city.”

Ellesime was silent once more. Then she said, evenly, “You have become a divisive figure of late.”

“Yes.”

“And you would withdraw yourself, rather than allow factionalism to blossom.”

“Yes.”

“Have you made any provision for your replacement?”

“I have not.”

“Ah.” Ellesime nodded once, and glanced down at her hands, folded on her polished desk. “Well. That was all very official.” She met Demin’s eyes again, and this time, the mask was dropped, and they were lit with heartfelt concern. “Now will you tell me the truth, Demin?”

“It is all true, Ellesime. I can see the cracks growing, getting deeper. Best to remove my weight from the limb before it cannot bear anymore. But…you know why I am doing this, Ellesime. I know that you do.”

“I am kept away the fray and need not take sides.” Ellesime gave a regretful little shake of her head. “At first, it seemed uncharacteristic, but the more we go on, the more like you it sounds. And I imagine that Solaufein chastised you roundly before coming to a similar realization?”

“I did not give him the opportunity,” Demin muttered, looking askance. Finally, a smile touched the Queen’s face.

“Good,” she murmured, and stood, holding out her arms. Demin embraced her, throat growing tight. “Oh, Demin. Do be careful.”

It felt odd to return to the temple. It felt like a lie to smile to her subordinate priests, knowing what she would be doing to them in just a few short hours. But no one else could know. Otherwise it would never work. So she sat at her desk, and pretended she would still be there the next day.

She looked up at the sound of knock, saw Solaufein, and frowned. There was something different about him, something changed about his bearing, and she could not say what it was. She gazed at him, trying to work out what was changed, and when she had, she was ashamed it had taken her so long.

He was wearing a sword.

He had, of course, done so daily in Ust Natha, and the half year since he had departed that place was hardly enough for him to forget how to carry himself while armed. And a part of her mind, both vocal and licentious, opined that the change in carriage was one that suited him very well and that she should really let him know how much she approved. It had even prepared a detailed list of ways that approval might be communicated. But a more rational voice hushed it, remarking rather on the timing of it all.

“That is a recent alteration,” she said, nodding towards the weapon.

“It was presented to me this morning at the practice rings.” He handed her a folded scrap of paper. “With this.”

Demin unfolded the note. It was very short, and the handwriting was instantly recognizable. She’d seen it every time he sent a note over with one of his rangers.

_Don’t make me regret this._

_-E_

She handed the paper back, trying not to let her surprise show in her face. “This is quite a gesture for Elhan to make at this juncture.”

“I thought so.” His hand rested lightly on the sword’s hilt, a gesture that bespoke an unpresuming desire for better acquaintance. “She is a serviceable blade. Not quite the equal of what I wielded before, but she will do.”

“You refer to a sword as ‘she’?”

“Yes,” he replied slowly, trying to make out if she were joking with him or not. “This is an idiom issue, isn’t it?”

“It would seem so, yes,” she said with a small laugh. “In general, the shape tends to inspire more…masculine pronouns.”

He thought about that, then sniffed. “That is vulgar.”

She laughed aloud. “ _You_ are accusing me of vulgarity?”

“It would appear that I am.” He gave her measuring look. “Obviously no one has ever bothered to take you in hand.”

She raised a challenging eyebrow. “And who would you nominate for such a task?”

“Myself, if necessary,” he said calmly. His eyes swept over her in an unmistakably obvious manner. “If I see no improvement.”

She held his gaze for a perilous moment, determined that she would not be the first to crack a smile. To her surprise, she was not, but it didn’t help, because it was one of his slow, lazy, wicked smiles, just like the one that had made her forget herself the day before. He knew it, too. He knew perfectly well that he was handsome, that she desired him, and he would happily make use of that knowledge. _And he calls **me** troublesome_ , she thought _._ But she knew herself better than to try and pretend that she didn’t like his sort of trouble.

His smile softened, and he stepped closer to her desk to ask quietly, “Will you make your announcement this evening?”

“There is nothing to be gained in drawing it out,” she said, nodding. “If I do not move quickly, there is no point in moving at all.”

He moved his head in agreement, never taking his eyes from hers. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

“I am oddly conflicted,” he admitted. “I see the need for action, and I am glad you have chosen a decisive course, and yet…” He cast an almost regretful gaze around the office. “This is where you belong. It is who you are.”

She looked down at her hands, more self-conscious than she wanted to admit. “It is just a room. And ‘Whiteleaf’ is just a title.”

“One that you have earned.”

She could not bring herself to look up yet. “There is no need to hold me in awe. Surely you know me better than that by now.”

“Ridiculous female,” he said, shaking his head. “Have you not a scrap of pride? It is not the office or the title that carry any glory. Only the one who holds them.” She looked up at him, blinking, and he continued, “But the very thing that makes you so well suited for them is the reason you will never understand.” She opened her mouth, but had no reply. He smiled, and said, “I should go. No doubt you have much to do.”

She rose and extended her hand; he took it, and pressed it to his lips. Her chest constricted at the contact, and as he straightened, their eyes met. There was so much she wanted to say, but had no words for. “I dare not come to you this evening when all is said and done,” he murmured. “You will be watched.” She swallowed and nodded tightly. “But I will be here, _m’sidthss_.”

She tried for a light chuckle. “Another lesson in drow vocabulary? What have you called me this time?”

He pursed his lips, parsing the appropriate translation. “The one to whom I belong,” he answered finally.

Her lips drew into an O of surprise. “Solaufein…you do not belong to me. _With_ me, if you choose, but…”

He shrugged. “Semantics.” He released her hand and nodded his farewell, leaving her to stare after him.

⁂⁂⁂

General Elhan loitered by the railing on the far side of the Temple common, his heavy cloak pulled tight to his chest as he watched the city below. A dark figure moved in the corner of his eye, settling his back against the rail to gaze back at Rillifane’s house. “Tonight,” Solaufein said, his tone matter-of-fact. Elhan grunted, and said nothing. The drow subjected him to a curious look. “You are teetering dangerously close to declaring for her openly. You know what will happen if you do.”

“Let Kilel and his handler shepherd rumors and whisper in the shadows,” Elhan snorted. “If they want me, they know where to find me.”

“Not every foe prefers the open battlefield, General.”

“True.” Elhan shot him a sidelong look that was almost sardonic. “Drow, for example.”

Solaufein chuckled, acknowledging the hit. “And that’s why you gave me this?” He rested his off hand on the sword’s pommel.

“No, actually.” Elhan faced him, unperturbed, it seemed, by his look of confusion. “Not for a moment do I dispute that Latiel is a sadly disturbed individual. But she was right about one thing: this city needs Demin.”

Solaufein regarded the general for a moment, then inclined his head. “Ironically enough, I would have to agree.”

“And that is why I made the gift,” Elhan said, then dropped his voice, his eyes intent. “She says she loves you. Prove that you deserve her.” He turned away, and began to walk towards the nearest descending walkway, adding over his shoulder, “I’m sure I’ll see you this evening. Should be an interesting night.”

⁂⁂⁂

Solaufein had never attended any of the Temple services from the ground floor before. He had always preferred his perch in the upper balcony, the better to view the sweep of events from above. But for this, he would join the crowd in the sanctum. Partly because he had promised Demin his presence, and partly because he knew he still made some people very uncomfortable. He had made it a practice since being on the surface to avoid those actions that caused discomfort in others, but tonight, he would let spitefulness rule. He purposefully positioned himself near a group of Woodcarver guildsmen, including the journeyman Kirlin had pummeled. They studiously maintained an invisible moat between themselves and him, and he allowed himself a wolfish smile. _Does being too close to the nasty Drow bother you? That’s a shame._ Kilel, seated near a bored-looking Master Favelien, glared at him. He didn’t stop smiling.

The buzz of conversation died as the priests entered. Demin’s face was calm, but it lacked the usual glow of contentment that marked her during worship, and Solaufein felt something twist in his gut, a brief, hot flash of anger. Her eyes met his, and gone from them was both the bravado of the day previous and the humble unconcern of the morning. For the instant she let him, he saw only a saddened determination. They were the eyes of one about to do something she desperately wished she did not have to do.

She stepped forward, raising her hands, and the assembled collectively inhaled, prepared for her to make the first call of the opening litany. But instead, she took a deep breath and said, her voice clear, “My friends. My children. I am grieved that I must do this. But I am left no other choice.”

Confusion washed over the sanctum, borne on a wave of whispers and turned heads. Favelien leaned forward, his eyes narrow. The wind whistled in the branches of the roof, and Demin continued. “I cannot remain where I am not wanted, and so I-” Her voice trembled, and Solaufein felt his jaw tighten. She composed herself quickly and said, “This is the last time I stand before you as Whiteleaf. I am sorry. I hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me. Farewell.” With that, she cast a final look over her shoulder at the altar, then resolutely walked down the center aisle, looking at no one as she passed. Just as she reached the double doors, the wind gusted sharply, and there was loud crack, like the sound of broken bone, as a thick branch half again the diameter of a man's leg crashed down into the sanctum. It scraped at the walls as it fell, the wood snapping and tearing. Worshippers screamed and fled from the path of its descent, but Demin did not look back.

In the sudden following silence, the crowd pressed to the walls of the sanctum stared at the enormous limb now dominating the center of the room. Solaufein looked towards Favelien, who met his eyes with a hard glare. Solaufein nodded once, and turned away. _Your move._


	14. The Maelstrom's Wake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I know a meeting of like minds when I see one.”_

Solaufein lay awake in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. It probably wouldn’t be wise to remain in the temple much longer; after all, it had been Demin’s influence that placed him there to begin with. In the morning, he would need to see about arranging for new quarters, and in and of itself, this did not bother him. Times changed, and he was accustomed to shifts in regime. If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was how to navigate such waters with a minimum of fuss, drawing only as much attention as necessary. But beneath the calm of experience was an unexpected tug of nostalgia. He would miss this tiny room.

He couldn’t even sleep, let alone trance. Perhaps it was the wind – hours later, it still sounded angry, and its low groan was distracting. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw Demin’s, sad and determined. And she was alone tonight, alone with her sacrifice. Did she gaze upward in the dark as well, replaying the evening over and over in her mind? The image that thought conjured made him half-start from the bed, the impulse to go to her overwhelming in its urgency. Sense reasserted itself a moment later, and he lay back again, disgusted with himself. She was strong, and self-assured, and resilient. No doubt her rest was deep and full of the certainty she had done the right thing.

But what if it wasn’t?

Ten minutes later, he was letting himself in via the guest room window, cursing his own foolishness and grateful for once that she used no wards. He had asked her about that, incredulous at their lack, and she had simply shrugged. “In all the years I have lived in this house, the only time I might have wished for them was when the rakshasha came, and against them, even my best wards would not have availed me much for long.”

“So you will not have them even as insurance?” he had asked blankly. She’d shrugged again.

“What you call insurance, I call paranoia.”

“Troublesome female,” he muttered under his breath as he closed the window. “ _I_ know the definition of caution in five languages, yet you seem to know it in none.”

It was easier, he knew, to condemn her for allowing easy entry to her home than to spare too much thought for what exactly he was doing. But he would just quietly go upstairs, he thought to himself, making for the stairhall. He would go upstairs, see her for himself, and put this madness to rest-

A light bloomed at the top of the stairs. “Solaufein?”

He looked up at her, barefoot with her dressing gown wrapped about herself and a soft priest’s light glowing in the air above her shoulder, and he leaned against the wall, chuckling tiredly. Demin’s brow furrowed. “What are you laughing at?”

“This is a familiar setting.”

She smiled slightly. “It is, isn’t it? But if it is any comfort, I am significantly less inclined to kill you this time.”

“Thank the Lady for that.”

“Amen.” She descended the steps, and tilted her head. “What are you doing here, Solaufein? And why did you not use the front door like a civilized person?”

“Well, I-” Damn her. When she put it like that, it was even more asinine an idea than it had sounded in his own head. “I…” Honesty, though painful, seemed the best option. “I was worried about you.”

The amusement in her smile softened, and she took both of his hands in hers. “Thank you. But I am quite well, I promise you. You did wake me, though. You have many talents, but burglary does not seem to rank among them.”

He made a sour face at her. “I did not wish to draw undue attention.”

“I could always give you a key.”

“I-” His first thought was that she must not have any idea the sort of gesture that would be, the scope and magnitude of her trust so casually set before him. And then he realized that she probably did know, and did it anyway. Of course she did. “I think that would draw undue attention of another sort.”

“That is fair,” she allowed. “But again, I must ask: what are you doing here?”

“I…needed to know that this evening did not burden you excessively.”

She squeezed his hands, but her cheer tarnished. “It is too soon to tell, I think. But thank you. I’m touched that you would go to such a length.”

“Even if I have made an ass of myself in the process?”

“Sometimes,” she said, laughing softly, “the willingness of a male to make an ass of himself can make a gesture even more endearing.”

He pondered that for a moment. “That makes no sense at all.” She laughed again, more brightly this time, and released his hands to wrap her arms around him. He returned the hug fervently; the rituals of surface courtship seemed to have mainly devised for their comedic potential, but this at least made complete sense. And to think that surfacers were so free with their embraces, bandying them about to friends and acquaintances, never seeming to see them for the precious commodity they were! How could they be so casual with something so perfect?

She sighed, her breath warm against his throat, and he tightened his arms around her, savoring every second of sensation. His previous embarrassment vanished; anything was worth it to be near her now. She fit perfectly against him, as if they had been designed for this. “I love you,” he murmured. She inhaled in response, and the breath was followed with a very distinct sniffle. He stiffened in horror. Not again. “Did I- Should I not have-”

“No! Not at all!” She looked up at him with a teary laugh. “That was…only exactly what I needed to hear just now.”

“Oh.” And now it was all back to not making any sense. “All right then.”

She smiled, wiping her eyes. “And have I thoroughly flummoxed you?”

“Possibly. But it is…good to be able to express such a thing, and not fear that there is something wrong with either you or I in feeling it.”

Her smile faded, and her eyes searched his face intently. “How terrible,” she whispered, “to have such a marvelous heart and spend your life fearing that its proper function means that you are broken. What a waste.”

He suddenly could not draw a full breath, and slid his hands up to catch her face between them. “If ever you should wonder why I love you,” he said, the words coming out somewhat more fiercely than he had intended, “remember what you have just said. _That_ is why.”

She turned her head just enough to kiss the palm of his left hand, never taking her eyes from his. They seemed to glow in the dim light as she said, “In these past months, I have often wondered at the wisdom of my choices, both recent and more distant. Tonight particularly I have questioned myself. But you remind me that this path I find myself on cannot be ill-chosen, because you are here with me.”

Their eyes held for a moment, and more than anything, he wanted to take her hand, lead her upstairs, and lay in her warm bed with her head on his chest. What happened before or after that particular fantasy was immaterial (though no doubt enjoyable). He sighed. He shouldn’t stay. He couldn’t. Demin smiled gently; no doubt she could see the thoughts passing behind his eyes. She leaned close, and pressed her lips to his cheek. “Good night, love,” she murmured. “And thank you. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He nodded. “I will use the door this time. But only so I may not be accused of barbarism.”

“We can’t have that.” Her expression was almost offensively innocent.

He narrowed his eyes at her, then sighed and smiled faintly, hand on the door latch. “And that is the other reason why I love you.”

His favorite of all her smiles, deep and impish, lit her face. “And I you.”

He felt better, returning to the temple, and perhaps it was just his imagination, but it seemed the wind had calmed as well.

 ⁂⁂⁂

He did not feel it untoward to approach General Elhan about obtaining new quarters, but he made the request expecting that the general would need some time to weigh it. Which was why Elhan’s reaction surprised him.

“I don’t see why not,” the general said, shrugging. “You’re unofficially working for us already; it shouldn’t be a problem to find you an unofficial bunk. I’ll talk to the quartermaster this afternoon.”

Solaufein peered at the general curiously. “You move at remarkable speed, General.”

Elhan looked as if he were going to shrug again, then glanced about his office carefully and said, quietly and with something like resignation, “The Queen has been wanting you out of the temple for weeks. Something about a more appropriate reflection of your status. I had made some arrangements to that end. I just wasn’t expecting you to come to me first.”

“My status?” Solaufein’s eyebrows lifted. “When was she planning on sharing this with me?”

“You’ve been here long enough by now to know she has her own sense of time.” Elhan spread his hands. “But there you have it. Something will be sorted out for you shortly.”

Someone knocked lightly on the frame of the open door. It was the young mager, Velkin. “Excuse me, General,” he said. “I apologize for interrupting.”

“Quite all right.” Elhan held out his hand for the envelope in Velkin’s. “Delivering messages?”

“Yes sir, but…this is for Solaufein.” He extended the envelope towards its recipient, who accepted it wordlessly. The general mostly managed to cover his surprise.

“Receiving mail here already? Now who isn’t wasting time?” He glanced at the mage. “You’re dismissed.” When Velkin was gone, Elhan cocked an eyebrow. “Well?”

Solaufein tucked the brief message into his coat pocket. “Master Favelien wishes to see me.” Elhan snorted.

“That should a conversation full of obfuscation and impolite lies.” Elhan turned his eyes to the reports on his desk; the interview was ended. As Solaufein turned to take his leave, he said, not looking up, “Keep me informed.”

Solaufein dawdled on his way to the Collegium. A bite to eat and a word with Naren, who seemed to have adopted the role of information clearing house while Kirlin was confined to quarters, occupied him while he let the Magister stew. It would not do to let Favelien think he had him at his beck and call, but he was still intrigued by what the archmage might want with him now. When he finally made his way to Favelien’s tower, the fairy dragon familiar eyed him with distaste.

“You are not punctual. I don’t like that.”

“Your poor opinion cuts to my very heart. I will endeavor to improve myself at once.”

“You are also sarcastic.” It flapped at him reproachfully. “I don’t like that either.”

“Then we would appear to be at an impasse.”

“Let him in, Miri,” Favelien said from the study. The small dragon sniffed and flapped out of his way. “Would you care for a drink?”

“No, thank you.”

“I have no intention of poisoning you, if that is your concern. Besides, any poison I would have access to here would likely only give you a sour stomach. We really have nothing on your people in that regard.”

“That’s very true,” Solaufein said calmly, folding his hands behind his back. “But no, I’m not afraid you’ll poison me. I simply doubt we have the same tastes.” Favelien raised a critical eyebrow, and Solaufein kept his expression bland. “May I ask why you went to the trouble to seek me out, Master Favelien?”

Favelien crossed his arms, dispensing with the veneer of formality. “Why did she do it?”

“To whom are you referring?”

The mage rolled his eyes. “Tell me: does it ever grow tiresome to be you?”

“Not yet, thankfully.” Solaufein relaxed his posture, giving Favelien what might have been loosely interpreted as a pleasant smile. “I take it you are referring to the rather dramatic events of last night. And I would have to pose a question of my own. Why are you asking me?”

“Because you know her mind.”

“I have known her not even a year,” Solaufein countered.

“Please,” Favelien sniffed. “I know a meeting of like minds when I see one.”

He’d kept a straight face before high Handmaidens of the Spider Queen; he would be damned if one surfacer mage was going to crack him. “At least you are no longer intimating that she keeps me as some sort of pet. Though perhaps she does, for my exotic plumage.”

Another eye roll. “Are you quite done?”

“I make no promises.” But he checked himself – it was time to take the mage’s irritation off the heat, lest it boil over and he gain nothing from this. “As for your original question, I can only provide my own interpretation. It seems to me that she was responding to the dictates of her conscience. The ill-will expressed towards her by certain figures in the city appears to have weighed on her to the point that she felt it prudent to disengage. Personally…I regret that it came to that.” He scrutinized Favelien’s tense features for a moment. “And you do as well, don’t you?”

“She has created a vacuum,” Favelien said tightly. “What she has done is unprecedented, and it leaves us in a deeply awkward position.”

“By ‘us’, do you mean the city as a whole? Or just yourself and Master Kilel?”

A flash of temper crossed the Magister’s face. “Kilel is a hothead.” He inhaled, stilling his features. “Do you know how the position of Whiteleaf is filled?”

“I assume there to be some line of succession within the hierarchy of the temple.”

“You assume wrongly.” He obviously enjoyed getting to say that. It was Solaufein’s turn to roll his eyes, and Favelien straightened slightly, assuming the posture of a lecturer. “A new Whiteleaf is created one of two ways: either the previous Whiteleaf names their successor, or Rillifane himself is petitioned, by the intercession of the Queen, to name them.” He leaned forward a degree, his dark eyes hard. “She made no mention of a successor. Do you see now what she has done?”

Solaufein felt the information slide into the appropriate places in his mental catalog. It was even more brilliant and dangerous a gambit than he had originally thought. “I do indeed,” he said softly.

“I do not deny her faith. Her devotion to the Leaflord is great and genuine. But she is a maelstrom, too fixed on the divine to see mortal consequences. It is likely too late for this counsel, but take care you are not caught in her wake, drow.”

And therein lay the difference between them, Solaufein thought. Favelien was no fool. He saw the world for what it was, full of compromise, limitations to be overcome and worked around. But Demin saw the potential for glory, the moments of grace, and even he could only imagine what it must be like to see through such transcendent eyes, he knew which version he preferred. “I thank you for the warning. But I do hope you will direct your disapproval in the appropriate direction. It is always best to know you are aimed for the right target, not simply the easiest.”

Favelien glared; he obviously disliked receiving anything resembling advice from anyone he deemed unworthy, but at length, he nodded tersely. “Of course.”

“Then I believe we understand one another, Magister.” He inclined his head. “Now if you will excuse me, there is other business I should be about.”

He did not wait to be dismissed, but took his leave. Favelien didn’t deserve the courtesy, and besides, that last had been a lie. It was not business he going to see to.

It took Demin a moment to answer her door, but as soon as it was closed behind him, he seized her, one hand on her waist and the other buried in her hair, and kissed her hard. For an instant, she tensed, her only reaction a small noise of surprise against his lips. It ended as soon as it had begun however, and she wound her arms around his neck, returning the kiss with a fierceness that only fueled his own. He had lived all his life with a limit over his head, but she was a creature without bounds. No wonder she intoxicated him so.

He wasn’t conscious of any movement save the press of her body against his, but move they had, because in a moment, she stumbled, her back against the banister. She smiled at him, panting. “That was quite a greeting. It hasn’t been that long since you saw me last, has it?”

“No, it hasn’t.” He dragged his hand upward from her waist with very deliberate casualness, cupping her breast possessively. “I was only very recently reminded of how much I appreciate your mind.”

“My mind?” She glanced down at the placement of his hand. “That was my mind you were appreciating?”

“Absolutely.” He bent his head towards her ear, making sure to brush his lips against it and tightening his fingers just a degree as he whispered, “You are clever, and that is incredibly arousing.”

He was rewarded by the ragged intake of her breath, her fingernails digging into his arms. “Dare I ask what inspires this appreciation? Or should I let that question lie until later?”

His hands drifted to her hips, and he nipped at her ear, provoking another deep, uneven breath. “Much later,” he replied, pulling her with him as he headed for the stairs.

It was a tricky ascent, both of them being far more interested in the placement of things other than their feet. And at one point at the top of the stairs, with his back against the wall and her right leg crooked around him, Solaufein gave serious consideration to just foregoing the bed altogether. But then she pulled back, backing towards the bedroom door, giving his belt a tug and smiling at him, wickedness and desire in her eyes. He smiled back, and a well-timed grab sent them sprawling on her bed, laughing. And he realized as they kissed again that the laughter was one of his favorite things about being with her. It was genuine, and delighted, with none of the sharp edges and brittle corners of laughter in the Underdark. He tucked the thought away to examine in greater depth later, when his attention was not focused on more important matters.

He was still braced on his forearms, catching his breath, when he said, “I suppose I owe you an explanation.” Demin, winded herself, chuckled languidly.

“Not necessarily. There are much worse ways to have one’s afternoon interrupted, after all.”

He rolled onto his side and propped himself on his elbow. “I spoke to Favelien earlier.”

She made a face. “I’m glad you didn’t mention that before. I think I would have found myself far less interested in sex if you had.” Solaufein grinned at her.

“Rest assured, it was not his person that awoke my desire.” That induced a slightly horrified laugh, and he continued, more seriously, “But it was something that he said. Two things, actually, which I imagine he considered completely unrelated.”

She faced him, eyebrows lifted curiously. “Now I am intrigued.”

“How did you come to be Whiteleaf?”

She blinked at the seeming change in subject. “My predecessor, Whiteleaf Nimian, named me in preparation for his retirement. That is how it is done. At the next Transformation, he stepped down, and I was elevated.” She sighed. “And six months later, Jone…Irenicus attempted his sacrilege. You are familiar with that story at least.”

“I had no idea the one so closely followed the other.”

She brushed his hair from his forehead with a slight shrug. “It earned me no special consideration, certainly. Why do you ask?”

“Because Favelien mentioned the need for a named successor, and I note that you named no one.”

She shrugged again. “There are none ready. I favor Tafaelen, but…he needs seasoning. Another decade or so in service, and I think I would have been comfortable giving him that distinction, but not now.”

“And you knew the uproar you would cause.”

“As I said…let them see what it profits them.”

He shook his head admiringly. “You _are_ a maelstrom,” he murmured. She looked puzzled and he said, “Favelien called you that. He meant it as a pejorative, but I do not. It is a mad and remarkable gamble you have made, and…I am impressed."

To his surprise, she did not smile. “I hope it proves the latter and not the former.”

“But…if the only recourse is to petition Rillifane, surely he will elevate you again.”

She did smile then, but he didn’t like it, because it was a smile that blessed his naiveté. “It is more complicated than that. Ellesime must make the petition, and she is his mortal agent. As such, she must take mortal matters into consideration. Such as the desires of the people. Rillifane is a god of harmony. He will never impose his will upon his children in a way that would breed strife.” Like naming an unpopular priestess to his highest office. Solaufein settled back to lie flat again, exhaling dourly. _Even the gods must play at politic_ s, he thought. Demin noticed the cast of his features and touched his cheek. “But regardless of how these events should unfold, I count myself blessed nonetheless. If your love is the only reward I should gain, it is more than enough.”

It was suddenly very difficult to swallow, but he forced himself to anyway. She noticed she had embarrassed him, and asked lightly, “So what madness prompted you to seek Favelien out in the first place?”

“I didn't. He summoned me, to discuss your resignation. He is most displeased.” Solaufein furrowed his brow, pondering the branches of her ceiling. “But he was all afire before to see you gone. But when Kilel took up the cause, he did all he could to rein him in, and now he is angered that he could not. What has changed?”

“The method,” Demin said, after a moment's thought. “If he had been able to rally the support he had needed, he could have made any demand of me. Including forcing me to name a successor.”

“But now he has no control over the outcome. And that is why he called Kilel a hothead.” He chuckled humorlessly. “It amuses me that surfacers do not seem to realize that their politics are just as complex as those in the Underdark. There are only fewer assassinations.”

“Reputations may be murdered just as efficiently as lives,” Demin said thoughtfully, joining him in an examination of the ceiling. They were quiet then, gazing upward, until she looked at him glumly. “This is worst pillow talk imaginable.”

“We should blame Favelien.”

“That is an excellent idea. He does seem to sap the joy out of everything around him.” She sat up, her smile muted but returned. “And as tempting as it might be to laze about in bed all day, I’m afraid we should not. You, at least, still have duties to attend to.”

The bed shifted as he sat up beside her, sliding his arm around her waist. “You will again.”

She glanced over her shoulder at him. “You still have such faith in me,” she said softly. He brushed her shoulder with his lips, his eyes on hers.

“I am still returning the favor.”

She kissed him gently, then stood, and he watched her get dressed. She had just begun to run a comb through her tangled hair when a knock at the door sounded from downstairs. “You see? I knew it was a good idea to get up.” She stopped to toss him his underwear before heading for the stairs, closing the bedroom door behind her.

To her surprise, Captain Kirlin waited at the door. He took one look at her, and sighed heavily. “Oh, not again.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Excuse me?”

“Well, you just…You look like you’ve been-” The ranger looked away uncomfortably. “…Doing what you were obviously doing.”

She glanced down at herself. Her dress was rumpled from its time on the floor, and she knew her hair was still a mess. She pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. The poor lad. Though she supposed she should be grateful it was him at her door, and not someone who wasn’t in the know. “Has the General released you already, Kirlin?”

“No,” he said with another sigh. “This is part of my punishment. Not visiting you,” he added hastily, “but…I’m to serve as the General’s personal page for the next three weeks.”

Demin’s eyes widened. “His _page_? For three weeks? Why does he not just scourge you and be done with it? It would be kinder in the long run.”

“That’s what I said,” Kirlin agreed moodily. He straightened, squaring his shoulders. “But I should deliver my message. General Elhan wanted me to inform you that the Queen will be calling the court in two days to discuss…what happened, and he wanted to talk to you first.”

“Tell him I am at his convenience.” She laughed dryly. “I don’t have anything else to do.”

“Well,” Kirlin began, then checked himself immediately. That time, she couldn't contain the laugh. She reached up, holding her palm to his cheek.

“Have I thanked you, Kirlin? For being such a good friend to him?”

“Everyone needs friends, Whitele-” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to call you.”

“I have a name,” she suggested. He thought about that, opened his mouth a few times as if to try it out, then shook his head.

“I’m not sure I can, Whi…my lady,” he said. He shot her an apologetic little smile. “But thank you. I’ll let the General know. I’m sure I’ll be back with his reply.”

As he turned to go, she said, “Kirlin. Was the calling of court by the Queen’s volition, or was it requested by another?”

“I’m sure she would have regardless…considering everything. But it’s my understanding Guildmaster Kilel’s hardly left her alone since you stepped down. She’s probably hoping to shut him up.”

_Oh, more than that, I_ _’m sure_ , she thought as she closed the door, nodding vaguely to Kirlin. Ellesime knew, better than anyone, what was at stake now. Even if Kilel was too foolish to see the truth or too arrogant to listen to Favelien, the Queen would understand it all. And she would do what she must when the time came.

Demin leaned against the door and closed her eyes. _The choice is not which path to take, but what lesson you will teach in the choosing._ She could only hope that she had not misinterpreted the Leaflord’s meaning, and have faith that he would guide her. “Endure the storm,” she murmured to herself, and opened her eyes.

He had never failed her. And she would not fail him.


	15. Thinking of Others

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _But love, once given the slightest foothold in the soul, had a peculiar way of redoubling itself._

Solaufein didn’t know either of the guards on duty outside the Queen’s chamber that morning, which was why their pleasant smiles of greeting surprised him. “If you’ll wait a moment, sir,” said the younger of the two, before knocking and ducking in to announce him. He blinked. _Sir?_ The door opened for him. “Her Majesty will see you.”

As usual, the Queen sat at her desk. “Ah, Solaufein, good morning,” she said, head still bent over her papers. “Shall I send for some tea?”

He was struggling not to be nonplussed and wasn’t sure he could manage it. “No, Your Majesty, that is quite alright.”

The door closed again, and she looked up. “How is she?”

It was not the question of a queen, and Solaufein weighed his response for a moment before saying, with a slight shrug, “She is herself. She is Demin. And as composed and confident as one can expect in her situation. If she suffers, she has made no sign of it to me.” Ellesime nodded, relief in her eyes, and his curiosity was piqued. “Have you not spoken to her?”

“There has been little time and no good place,” she said quietly, then sighed. “Much as I love her, she has placed me in an awkward position.”

Solaufein chuckled. “That seems a common sentiment lately.”

“It is one of her many contradictions that she does not like uproar, and yet is more than capable of causing it.” The Queen straightened, tapping her pen on the surface of her desk. “But she made her point. Unfortunately, Guildmaster Kilel has decided to call her bluff. He wishes a meeting of court on the matter, and I cannot in good conscience refuse him. So he will have his hearing.”

He folded his hands behind his back. “What would you have me do, Your Majesty?”

She shook her head solemnly, but there was a trace of a smile in her green-gold eyes. “As Queen, I may make no request of you or any other in this matter now. I can serve as arbiter only. But…as her friend, and yours too, I hope, I ask that you continue to be for her what you have thus far. Whatever the outcome may be, you have found happiness together. And that is a victory too.”

He inclined his head. “Of course, Your Majesty. Was there anything else you wished of me?”

“Not today, I’m afraid. But hopefully we may soon return to routine.”

He nodded, bowed, and took his leave. Yes, it was a victory that from the heights of the trees and the depths of the Underdark, he and Demin had found one another, but for the moment at least, he would much prefer to see victory of a more specific kind. Or perhaps he was simply feeling spiteful again.

And that was why his next stop was General Elhan’s office. He had found the General to be an unexpected ally in spite, which gave their newly forged accord an air of mutual understanding. Outside Elhan’s office, a small desk had been installed, and Kirlin sat behind it, wearing his mortification. The desk’s underside was too low for the young male’s long legs, and every time he moved them, he knocked his knees against it. And then he would sigh. Solaufein tried not to let his amusement show – Elhan had raised Kirlin’s punishment to the level of performance art, and he was impressed. “No need to get up,” he said innocently. “I’ll show myself in.”

Ehlan was seated at his own, far more appropriately sized desk. “Well?”

“She is being cagey again, but that is no surprise,” Solaufein said. “Will we have everyone ready by this evening?”

“Naren should be back by afternoon, so yes.” There was another thump and sigh from outside, and Solaufein glanced over his shoulder towards the noise. Elhan raised his eyebrows. “It would be ironic if you of all people thought I was being too hard on him.”

“Not at all. I’m well acquainted with the use of humiliation as punishment, but you’re doing something quite unexpected with the form. I approve.”

The General’s eyebrows did not lower. “I’m not sure how to feel about that.” He looked towards the open door, and lowered his voice. “To be honest, he’s something of a special case.”

“I didn’t think you would go this much trouble for just any offender. Are you making an example of him for Kilel’s benefit?”

“In part, but only so much as the Guildmaster may be watching.” Elhan glanced towards the door again. “Has he told you how he came by his current rank?”

“No, but that is not the sort of conversation he would begin,” Solaufein replied with a slight shrug. “I had always assumed it to be the consequence of natural ability superseding age.”

“It is.” Elhan’s eyes took on a faraway look. “When Irenicus returned, and his rakshasa closed off the city, our forces were divided, and those left trapped within the illusion were badly outnumbered. Kirlin’s unit was charged with the defense of the temple, and the battle did not favor them. Half died in a day, including his commander. He was left to rally the survivors – which he did by retreating.”

Solaufein could not keep the surprise from his face. “He abandoned his post?”

“And ordered his men to do the same. They fell back to the Merchants’ Guildhouse, where they discovered a large group of civilians taking refuge, so they fortified it as best they could and held for nearly a week until we were able to retake the city. And in that time, he did not lose a single soul, soldier or civilian, adult or child. He saved over a hundred lives.” Elhan chuckled softly. “And expected the worst of me when all was said and done. You should have seen the look on his face when I promoted him. Actually…it was a bit like the look on your face now.”

“In the Underdark, he would have been…” Solaufein said, forcing himself to blink. “Well, there is no need for detail.” He cocked his head a degree. “You have high expectations of him.”

“Do you blame me? This city will be his some day, and he doesn’t even know it.” There was another thump, followed this time by a soft curse. “But definitely not yet.” Elhan glanced down at his desk, his eyes suddenly engrossed by the papers before him. “Tell me something, Solaufein. Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Laboring for Demin’s reinstatement.” He looked up, his mouth set. “I mean no offense, but you are not one of us. Rillifane is not your god. You have no stake in this.”

“Don’t I? I _live_ here, General.” Elhan did not respond, and Solaufein let himself chuckle. “I see. You are afraid that it is not my brain that I am thinking with. That my reasons are prurient and distasteful.” Solaufein leaned forward, daring the other male to look away. “No need to worry. I am not lust addled. She is a magnificent bed partner, but I am still capable of rationality.”

“Then why?” Elhan’s eyes narrowed, obviously wishing that last sentence had never existed, and Solaufein pushed the laugh he desperately wanted to voice into an interior holding area, where it could wait until later. The squeamishness surface males seemed to feel towards thinking of their female friends as sexual creatures struck him as hysterically funny, but he dared not say so to the General. He would have to mention it later to Demin. _She_ would probably laugh at it, at least.

“When we first met, she viewed me with a very understandable distaste and suspicion. I saw what my people did to this city, General. If the same had been visited on Ust Natha by yours, I would have had my every prejudice confirmed as well. But then the Leaflord spoke for me, and…” He could see her, in his memory, stepping between him and Elhan, willing to defend him from even her closest friends. “Without a second’s hesitation, she accepted that she had been wrong. Rillifane granted me sanctuary, and she would see that his will was done. It was, and is, truly that simple for her. A lesser soul would be too proud to change their course, but not her.” Elhan was silent for a moment, then nodded once, apparently satisfied, and Solaufein shot him a small smile. “Besides, I have been challenged to prove that I deserve her. How better to do that than to champion her cause?”

Elhan snorted and shrugged, the shift in his posture marking the end of the discussion. “I’ll see you this evening.” Solaufein turned to depart, stopped by the General’s voice. “Good to know you mean it, though.”

⁂⁂⁂

Demin was bored. She felt herself at a bit of a loss; staying at home made her look like a recluse, too proud or strange to be seen by her fellow citizens now that she had abandoned her exalted position, but going about as if nothing had changed wasn’t an option either. It seemed that no matter what she did, it would inevitably be the wrong thing. So she’d opted for home, for now, and had absolutely nothing to do. She’d cleaned the house, top to bottom, polished her armor, changed all the bed linen, caught up on her mending…and now she still didn’t have anything to do.

That was why she smiled at the sight of Kirlin at her door. It seemed he was becoming a near permanent fixture of her front step. But he was unusually somber that evening, and drew himself up to his full height when she opened the door. “My lady,” he said, dipping his head respectfully. “I am here to conduct you to the General.”

Her smile became bemused at the formality of his tone. “Lead the way, Captain.” He offered her his arm, which she accepted, still unsure of the meaning of their little drama.

That sensation deepened when she realized he was not taking her to Elhan’s office in the barracks, but to the Ivy and Thorn pub. They passed through the sparsely populated common, into the private back room. She paused in the doorway and stared.

“You know, you’re right,” Elhan remarked to Solaufein, who leaned against the opposite wall. “She _does_ make an amusing face when she’s surprised. I can’t believe I never noticed that before.”

“Elhan,” Ehlya admonished. She shot Demin a bright smile. “Something to drink?”

Demin blinked at the assembly before her. Not just Elhan and Solaufein, not just Kirlin and Ehlya, but Naren and some of the stalwarts of the young guard, including the mages Madeth and Velkin. Silverbark Tafaelen sat nearby, with a half dozen of his fellow priests, and seated next to Ehlya was Guildmistress Ryelle of the Weavers. And sharing the wall with Solaufein was none other than Boughstirrer Novian himself. She finally found her voice. “Elhan…what is going on here?”

“Ask him.” The General jerked a thumb towards Solaufein, who smiled faintly.

“You have been far too preoccupied with those who oppose you, Demin. You should remember that they do not speak for all.”

“I…I don’t understand.”

“Let Kilel make his demands,” Ryelle said calmly, sipping her wine. “Punishing you will not make the past disappear, nor will it garner him any acclaim. This posturing is ridiculous and pointless.”

“You were perfectly within your rights to do as you did,” Ehlya added, but her tone was not that of a friend. It was, rather, that of one who spoke with the authority of her Guildmaster. “But that being said, the city needs the Whiteleaf.”

“Which means that it needs you,” Tafaelen said. The young priest’s gaze was steady. “We haven’t moved the branch in the sanctum. It is the Leaflord’s sign to us and we know where our loyalties lie.” There was a murmur of agreement from his fellows.

Demin sank slowly in the open seat next to Ehlya, touched, and accepted an offered cup of wine. Her eyes settled on Madeth and Velkin. “Won’t you get in trouble with the Magister, if he should discover you were here?”

Madeth didn’t seem to know what to do with the attention, but Velkin said staunchly, “We’re here as part of the Guard.” Elhan was not so good at controlling his face that his nod of approval was not accompanied by a satisfied smile.

“At this point, Favelien is watching to see where the pieces fall, I think,” Ryelle said. “His reputation took something of a beating after his own attempt to oust you was stillborn. He won’t weep for you if Kilel somehow manages to prevent your reinstatement, but he won’t go out of his way to achieve it either.”

“If they want to play politics like humans,” Ehlya said, rolling her eyes and refilling her wine cup, “perhaps they should go into Amn and do so there, saving the rest of us the aggravation.” A chuckle swept through the room, one Demin found herself sharing.

“What ultimately matters, child,” Novian said gently, “is that we here will stand and speak for you before Rillifane when the time comes. Kilel and Favelien judge you because it is easy for them to do so. From the vantage of the present, the past lies open as a book. But that ease is an illusion, and the more fools they for not understanding that.”

“Honestly,” Ryelle said, “if they are looking for stones to cast – where was Favelien when the Exile was experimenting on kobolds? There is more than enough blame to be had, and we all have our share.”

Tafaelen shared an awkward glance with his companions. “And for that matter…where were we when Latiel was leaving notes and hiring assassins? Why is it your fault that she went too far?”

Demin dropped her eyes, and Novian said gently, “As I said, easy answers are for those who cannot bear a challenge.” His smile grew sly. “That is why I like to think of this as a gathering of the enlightened.”

The conversation shifted to less weighty topics, well lubricated with wine and amiability. Solaufein remained on the fringes, and once or twice, Demin caught his eye. He smiled at her, looking pleased, but all the same, she wished she could draw him closer. Have him sit beside her and share her wine, and when she grew weary, rest her head on his shoulder. As lovers did.

Not yet.

But when?

As the others began to rise and take their leave, Ehlya caught Demin’s arm. “I finished it for you,” she murmured. “It’s not my best work, but you rushed me.” She smiled reprovingly and pressed a small box into Demin’s hand. Demin smiled back.

“I’m sure it will be perfect.”

Outside, Solaufein was pretending to loiter again, waiting at a juncture of the walkways. She drew even with him, and raised an eyebrow. “Was that really all your idea?”

“Perhaps its genesis, but the General made it his own with very little prompting.”

“He has not reached his current position by ignoring the wisdom of others.” She glanced sidelong at him. “Why, Solaufein?” she asked, her voice soft. He gave her one of his familiar looks of puzzlement before shaking his head.

“Yesterday, the General told me that Latiel had been right about something – that the city needs you. And I agree with that. But I also think she was right about something else. You always think of others, even when you should be thinking of yourself.” He took her hand, and pressed it to his lips with a kiss just a fraction of a second longer than social nicety preferred. “Good night, Demin.”

“Before you go…” She handed him the little box Ehlya had given her. “A gift.” His brow furrowed in confusion, which gave way to something very like shock when he removed the lid.

He stared at the pendant nestled within, a silver disc etched with the outline of the full moon crossed by an elegant blade. Across its face were soft curling lines, suggesting shining hair. Demin stepped closer to peer at it, and smiled. “Oh, it’s very good, isn’t it? Ehlya does such beautiful work.” Solaufein turned his stunned gaze to her, and she added apologetically, “I would have liked to have had it blessed for you, but…”

He closed the box, searching her face as if he expected to find the answer to some great mystery of the planes in her eyes. “You have just proven my point again,” he whispered.

She glanced at her feet, then asked, suddenly shy, “So you like it?”

He tucked the box into a pocket, began to say something, and then seemed to change his mind. It took him a moment to form his reply, and when he did, it was three whispered words.

“Expect me tonight.”

He turned, and walked back towards the barracks. She smiled to herself, and turned for home. She would take that as a yes.

⁂⁂⁂

Solaufein lay awake, gazing across Demin’s moonlit bedroom. She lay beside him, tucked under his arm in her usual fashion. He had to smile at that – _usual_. How was any of this, in any way, usual? He had been many things in his life, but being the secret lover of a surfacer priestess of the Seldarine was perhaps the strangest. And wouldn’t the Matrons hiss at that, a favored son in the arms of a _darthiir_ female. But that was all he had ever been to them, wasn’t it? A trophy. A prize, valued not for himself but for the role he filled. He glanced at Demin, pale as marble in the moonlight, the lines of her cheekbones and curve of her lips thrown into silvery relief. He was simply Solaufein to her. House and Matron meant nothing now, and he found that he liked it that way.

Strange yes, but marvelous too.

“That first night,” he murmured aloud, “I looked up into the city, unsure of where to go, or even if I had done the right thing in coming here. There were fires in the trees, both magical and natural. I could hear the fighting, but didn’t know who to approach or how. And I saw the moon, full like tonight, and decided I would let my Lady guide me. So I followed the moonlight, and it brought me to your door.”

“Our gods are shameless matchmakers,” Demin said softly, her eyes still closed.

“Then I suppose we have done their will.” He smiled and stroked her arm. “And I would again, save that I should go before the night is too far advanced.” Regretfully, he slipped his arm from under her; she mumbled a protest. Her eyes opened, and she touched the pendant at his neck, the silver bright against his chest.

“It suits you,” she said with a quiet smile. “It is a pity, though, there are no others of your faith here that you might share with.”

“I have been solitary in my worship for so long I do not know what I would do if that were to change,” he chuckled. “But perhaps in the future…” He shrugged and reached for his clothes. “There are other things that must be seen to first.”

“Do not put yourself aside for my sake, love.”

He snorted, amused. “Unintended irony is perhaps the best sort.” She made a face at him, and he touched her forehead tenderly. “Now close your eyes and rest, _m’sidthss.”_

“And if I do not?”

“Then it will be no one’s fault but your own when you are surly and unpleasant in the morning and I will nothing to do with you.”

“Hmph.” She rolled onto her side, settling into her pillow, eyes closing in exaggerated obedience. “You will always have something to do with me.” They opened again, as if something had just occurred to her. “At least…I hope that you will.”

He gazed down at her as he pulled his shirt over his head, adjusting his new necklace under the collar. There were no bonds in a drow’s life that could be counted on to last. Lovers came and were gone on a whim, children were kept so long as they were useful, and siblings if they did not block one’s own ambitions. But love, once given the slightest foothold in the soul, had a peculiar way of redoubling itself, and he suspected that the longer he knew her, the greater it would become. And he found himself anticipating that possibility with something akin to greed – for a heart starved so long, the idea of always was strangely heady. If he loved her this much now, how much could he in another year? Ten years? A century?  He swallowed, and brushed her cheek with his fingertips, watching her eyes slide shut once more. “I hope that I will as well.”

⁂⁂⁂

The morning dawned cold and clear, and the throne room was packed to its utter capacity. Demin was heartened to see every face from the meeting at the Ivy and Thorn among the gathered, shooting her small looks and smiles of encouragement. Ehlya squeezed her hand, Kirlin and his cadre saluted, and Novian pressed her into a quick but firm embrace. Solaufein simply nodded, but the gesture said all she needed it to.

It was strange to see the throne room from the gallery, Demin thought; for so long, her vantage had been that spot to the left of the throne, where she and Elhan flanked Ellesime. Soldier and priest, the temporal and spiritual, and between them was their Queen, who was both. But now there was no one there. The natural order was out of balance. That was why they were gathered though, wasn’t it?

Ellesime’s face was still, and her eyes guarded. Whatever she thought of the emptiness at her left shoulder was for herself alone. She raised a hand for silence, and fixed her gaze on Guildmaster Kilel. “We are here, Guildmaster,” she said, her voice echoing in the sudden hush. “I pray, speak your mind.”

“There is little enough that needs be said, Your Majesty,” he replied. “The position of Whiteleaf stands empty, and its former occupant having named no successor, only you may see that it is filled once more.”

Ellesime looked at him in silence for a moment, her head tilted the slightest fraction of a degree. “That is quite true. But as a city, we have all wasted far too much time on nicety and form, so I would ask you, Kilel, to say what you really think.”

The Guildmaster returned her gaze, appearing composed, though he swallowed tightly before he spoke. “I believe this an opportunity for us to begin anew, Your Majesty. The tenure of the previous Whiteleaf was marked by… troubling decisions which have had long reaching implications for our city.”

Ryelle sighed. “Have we not flogged the issue of the Exile well past the point of death, Kilel?” He glared at her.

“A second exile was made under her watch, Ryelle. Or did you fail to notice that?”

“Fool.” Novian’s voice filled the room, and everyone shifted uncomfortably at the sound. “Latiel alone bears the burden of her actions.”

Kilel straightened his shoulders. “My deepest respects, Boughstirrer, but those actions were prompted by the behavior of her superior.”

  
“That behavior being the assurance that the sanctuary granted by the Leaflord was maintained? A sanctuary violated by the one cast out?”

“There is a difference between allowing for sanctuary and-”

“Treating him as a mortal with a soul and not a beast?” The words were out of Demin’s mouth before she could stop herself. Every eye turned to her and she steeled herself against the scrutiny. Solaufein was looking at her too, his face unreadable, and she returned the gaze with all the conviction she could muster before turning her eyes to Kilel. She probably should not have spoken, but it was said now.

“So hasty to come to the defense of a _drow_.”

“You and I will never agree concerning my decisions, Kilel, so why must we make a spectacle of this?” she asked. Favelien snorted, and she raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Magister?”

“Only agreeing that you should avoid making spectacle. You’ve done so well in that regard thus far.”

Elhan crossed his arms. “Do you have anything useful to contribute, Favelien?”

“Do you?”

Ellesime’s face darkened; she did not speak, but she did not have to. Elhan and Favelien pointedly looked away from each other, and Kilel cleared his throat. “No, Lady Demin,” he said, “we do not agree. Nor shall we. But perhaps for the edification of those gathered here, you might explain yourself?”

“I have, Guildmaster, repeatedly. What more is there to say that what I have already said? If you are determined to view doing the Leaflord’s will as appropriate only when it does not conflict with your personal prejudices, I do not see what more there is to be done for you.”

Frost crept over Kilel’s features. “But you have not just sought to do Rillifane’s will, Demin. That is obvious to any watching. What is the true nature of your relationship with the drow?”

Solaufein’s expression did not change, even as the whispers spread through the throne room. There was no flicker of reaction in his red eyes, and Demin prayed for half so much self-command. She looked back at Kilel steadily. “I make no secret that I value his company and counsel.”

“Is that all?”

“All?”

“Don’t be coy, Demin. There have been rumors from the first. It is time that you answered them, so I will be blunt. Have you taken the drow as a lover?”

Her chest constricted. The gaze of the assembly crushed her, and she spared an instant to meet Solaufein’s eyes. _Lie¸_ they said. _For once in your life, LIE._ She took a deep breath.

“Yes.”


	16. A Fool's Adventure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“What can I possibly destroy now that has not already been laid waste?”_

There were hands gripping her arms and at her back; Demin was hustled out of the throne room so quickly she barely even heard the swell of reaction from those gathered. In fact, she was moved with such haste that they were already out the side door and halfway down the corridor before she even recognized those who had plucked her from the hornet’s nest – Naren and a scowling Thelarias. She straightened her sleeves when they finally released her. “That was very expedient,” she said, trying to sound calmer than she felt.

“The General told us to be ready to move you if necessary,” Naren replied, looking uncomfortable. “I hope you can forgive the presumption, my Lady.”

Demin sighed. “No, I think you did exactly as you should have, under the circumstances.” She leaned against the wall, turning her eyes to the ceiling. “I believe I’ve made rather a hash of this.” The two young soldiers glanced at each other awkwardly, and Naren cleared her throat.

“I think being somewhere with a door is a good idea.” She addressed Thelarias. “I’ll take her to the library. Head back to the throne room and keep an eye on the situation.” He made a quick salute, and turned back down the corridor. Naren nodded to Demin, not meeting her eyes. “Come with me, please.”

They ducked into the main atrium of the library, and as Naren pulled the double doors shut behind them, a voice challenged, “Who’s there?”

“It’s me, Captain,” she said. “I brought her with me.” Kirlin stepped from behind one of the shelves, but before he could speak, Solaufein surged ahead of him. Any relief Demin might have felt at seeing him was doused in ice water at the sight of the fury in his eyes.

“What. Were. You. THINKING?” he hissed. She stiffened contentiously.

“I was asked to answer in honesty, and I did.”

“Oh yes, let us be certain that we extend all proper courtesy to _Kilel_ ,” Solaufein sneered.

“Someone must, even if he does not deserve it,” Demin snapped, folding her arms tightly. He rolled his eyes.

“Of all times to find oneself snagged on the rocks of tact.”

“Tact is not at issue here,” she said, forcing her voice steady. She had the sensation of teetering on a cliff’s edge, and found herself rocking slightly, as if keeping her physical balance would somehow be enough. “I could not in good conscience lie.”

“Why not? You may not have made a practice of lying in the past, but that was a perfect opportunity to start.”

“I told you I am not ashamed of you!”

“Then perhaps I should be!” he shouted.

She blinked in shock at the outburst. “What?”

He leveled a finger at her, frustration radiating from him as heat from a forge, breathing in short, shallow gasps. “You…you are naïve. You are a dreamer. You do not live in reality. You, of course, would follow any reckless scheme, but _I_ should have known better!”

She stared at him, eyes wide, stung and angry. “So what you once praised as conviction, you now condemn as naiveté? Once I was brave, and now I am a fantasist?”

“Do you not see what you have done, Demin?!” he cried. “You have _destroyed_ yourself, and for what?”

She heaved a breath, ready to toss back his anger in kind, then stopped herself. He was right, of course. Protecting a drow, befriending one – while uncomfortable, the specific circumstances of Solaufein’s sanctuary in Suldanessellar made most willing to forgive. But bedding him? That was likely a pill too bitter for easy swallowing. How she could rebound from this, she did not know, but that seemed of secondary importance at the moment. “For you,” she said softly. He shook his head stiffly, denial in his eyes.

“Do not, Demin. Do not rest this madness on me. Not this time.”

“I am not blaming you, you idiot! I am only-”

“You don’t have to,” he cut her off, leaning towards her. But there was no intimacy in the closeness; his face was too hard. “I blame myself. I saw this. Saw its approach clear as magelight, and still I let you convince me it could be managed. And the worst of it is that I believed you.” He stepped even nearer, his voice lowered to a cold, flat growl. “I _believed_ you, Demin.”

There was something terribly wrong in his expression. He didn’t look like Solaufein anymore; he looked like a drow, like the enemy. Some ancient, instinctive anger flared inside her, and she glared back at him, raising her chin doggedly. “I did not force you,” she shot back between clenched jaws, “and I did not mislead you. Rage to your heart’s content, it does not change the truth.”

He chuckled, a completely humorless sound. “My heart’s content? I wonder now if my heart really had anything to do with it.” He straightened, and took a step back, straightening his shoulders in a false show of calm. “You should congratulate yourself, my lady. Apparently your charms are so great as to negate common sense. Or perhaps it had simply been so long since last I was fucked that I’d grown desperate.”

It would have hurt, if she was not so desperately furious. Perhaps later, on further examination, she might find the place where the words struck. She inhaled sharply in a vain attempt to keep herself from trembling. “That is cruel,” she whispered.

“I am a drow, Demin,” he replied flatly. “What did you expect?”

She sucked air through her teeth, eyes narrowed. She would not play that game. Not now. “I would expect better,” she spat, “because you are not a monster.”

She stared at him with every ounce of determination she had left. The gaze held for a moment, then he looked away. Some irrational part of him wanted to prove her wrong, to give her a detailed accounting of just how monstrous he could be, but the fury was gone, and all of a sudden, he could not bear to have her eyes on him any longer. “Just a fool,” he murmured sadly, and brushed past her.

She heard the door open and close. “Fool indeed,” she whispered. The cliff was gone, and there was only air beneath her feet.

⁂⁂⁂

Solaufein ducked out a side door, following a narrow, sharply twisting walkway down towards the barracks. Above him, he could hear the milling mass of confusion departing the palace via the main doors, crowding the court platform. He could speculate on what had happened there after Demin’s explosive revelation, but he found he didn’t care. He didn’t really care about anything, actually. Something had hollowed him out, leaving a chasm too deep to even echo.

He heard the footsteps behind him and ignored them. Whoever they belonged to, they were nothing to him. “Solaufein!” _Oh hells_. “Solaufein, stop!” He didn’t.

“Go to the Abyss, Kirlin.”

A hand caught his shoulder. “Damn you,” Kirlin panted. Solaufein shrugged off the hand without turning or breaking his stride; Kirlin grabbed at him again, wrenching him about. “What in the hells was that back there?”

“None of your business.”

“Things that happen right in front of my face _are_ my business, Solaufein, especially when it involves two people I happen to care about.”

“Do you now?”

“Yes! I care about you, and I care about her. Isn’t that enough?”

He let his eyes narrow with contempt. “Yes, you have ever been her champion, haven’t you, Kirlin? You’ve been fool-eyed over her since the first time I met you. Maybe you should go back and comfort her; she might be receptive to you now.”

Kirlin stared at him in dumbfounded silence before finally managing, “Wha...what are you talking about?”

“Don’t think I hadn’t noticed. Nor that I blame you, honestly. She’s certainly far more attractive than the majority of the females in this ridiculous city. And I'm sure she could teach you a thing or two.” He looked Kirlin up and down coolly. “You could use the experience.”

“Solaufein… you know I don’t have those kinds of feelings for her.”

“Gods, you surfacers and your compartmentalizing! ‘Those kinds of feelings’! Don’t be so coy. You’re young and you worship her – of course you’ve wondered what it would be like to have her face down on the mattress!”

Kirlin’s eyes seemed to take up half of his face, and his jaw was somewhere around his knees. “H-how can you talk about her like that? What is _wrong_ with you?”

“Why would you think anything is wrong? Perhaps it is simply time for me to say all the things that I have not.” He shrugged with manic indifference, and spread his arms wide. “After all, what can I possibly destroy now that has not already been laid waste?” He pointed up towards the palace with a jab of his finger. “ _She’s_ already razed it all to the foundations; why not salt the earth while I’m here and piss on the ashes? What can it hurt? What is left for me to ruin?” His eyes lit on Kirlin’s right hand, clenched in an unconscious fist, and his lip curled. “What, planning on breaking your hand again?”

Kirlin looked down at his hand, then back at Solaufein. “You taught me how to throw a punch better than that, remember?”

The first blow went for the gut.

Solaufein doubled, the breath knocked from his body, and Kirlin scowled. “Is this what you want?” His next blow caught Solaufein’s cheek just as he was raising his head. “Does it make you feel better?” Another punch to the stomach sent the drow staggering back, the back of his head connecting solidly with a nearby branch. “Do you really hate yourself so much right now you need me to hate you too?” Solaufein didn’t reply; he simply leaned against the railing, head bent, catching his breath. Kirlin shook his stinging hand, curling and stretching his aching, but unbroken, fingers. “Fine! If that’s what you want, I will! If you need me to tell you that you’re a miserable, pathetic waste of skin, if you need to hear that you ruin everything you touch, then there you have it – you are, and you do! But that doesn’t mean that I believe it.”

He exhaled hard, puffing out his cheeks. “Even if it was _really_ satisfying to hit you just now. Gods, you are EXHAUSTING. I’ve had to get you drunk, and now I’ve had to beat you. What’s next? Boiling you in oil? Feeding you to a dragon? A little guidance might be nice so I know what to expect.” Solaufein still said nothing. “Oh, NOW you don’t have anything to say.” Kirlin glared, watching his averted face. 

He straightened, touching his bruised midsection gingerly. “I have to go, Kirlin.”

“And do what?”

“And _go._ ”

“Leave Suldanessellar?”

“How can I stay here now?”

Kirlin looked thoughtful. “So…you were going to insult her, insult me, and then leave without a word of explanation to anyone?” Solaufein retreated back into silence. “You didn’t think this through at all, did you?” He drew himself to his full height, a weapon he so rarely used that its deployment had terrible significance. “You can be as crude and vulgar as you want, but it doesn’t change the truth, you irritating son of a troll. If you honestly think that little performance up there was somehow going to make it easier on everyone involved, easier on HER, then I don’t even know what to say to you.” Solaufein sighed and muttered something. “What was that?”

He sighed again and raised his voice. “Not easier.” He kept his eyes fixed on the walkway at his feet. “Perhaps if she hated me, then-” He scrubbed his face with his hands. “I should have kept my distance. I should have stayed away from her. I should have left before.”

“But…if you had,” Kirlin offered carefully, “what would you have missed?”

It all flashed before his eyes then: the Common lessons on the balcony, torturing himself trying to mimic her flawless accent. Having tea in her sitting room, stunned that she would ask him for advice. Dancing with her the night of the Transformation, watching her laugh in the firelight. Waking up after he had been stabbed, seeing her face and knowing she had watched over him. Seeing her stand in the doorway of his little room in the temple, the silence heavy with meaning. Looking into her eyes their first night together, humbled and awestruck by the wonder he felt. Could he trade it all away? Every verbal dual, every private joke, every knowing smile, every touch? If some djinn appeared before him and told him he could give Demin her life back, the only cost being those moments and memories, could he do it?

“There is no djinn,” he told himself under his breath. Kirlin looked at him oddly, and he shook himself. “I cannot stay here, Kirlin. I am the ruin of her reputation. Any good that could have come of this is gone now.”

Kirlin looked pensive. “I suppose that if that’s how you feel… I won't try to talk you out of it. Even if I think it's a completely stupid idea, and you’re stupid for having it. But before you do anything else, you owe her an apology. You were rude.”

A helpless chuckle shook Solaufein's shoulders. “Rude? I was abominable.” He rubbed his face again. “I’m not sure I can face her now.”

“Well, you should anyway,” Kirlin said staunchly. “Besides, if you really are determined to leave, you should say so to her face.” He gave Solaufein a nudge. “Come on.”

Naren stood alone outside the library. “The court has been dismissed,” she said as Kirlin drew near. “The Queen, the General, and the Guildmasters are all meeting now. It’s a bit touchy.” She inclined her head towards the door. “I thought she could use the privac-” She caught sight of Solaufein and folded her arms. “And I thought you’d be dragging _him_ back by his ankles.”

“Fortunately, that turned out to be unnecessary,” Kirlin said, magnanimous in the extreme. “This time, anyway.” Solaufein looked askance.

“I’m still not sure this is wise, Kirlin.” The ranger simply opened the door.

Demin stood in a pool of pale winter sunlight, her back to the door. Her head lifted as she heard it open and close, and she turned at the sound of it. She looked at him in silence, and it took a few false starts for his voice to work. “Demin, I…” He took a deep breath, and discovered that his ribs hurt. “I apologize for my conduct earlier. I apologize for my words. I lashed out in anger and you did not deserve it. It was wrong of me to say what I did.” He heaved an unhappy breath. “I promised myself I would never cause you pain, and yet today I have. And purposefully, too. I know I do not deserve your forgiveness, but-”

“You have it,” she said quietly. Her face was unreadable, and he swallowed.

“Why?”

“What is the use of a hardened heart?” she asked. “I have no desire for you to abase yourself for my pleasure.” _Like a drow_ , he thought bitterly. “It is not a matter of what you do or do not deserve,” she continued. “You have come to me in contrition, and I forgive you.”

“But… _why_?”

She tilted her head, expression finally entering her face, gentle and sad. “Because I love you. Did you really think harsh words born of fear could wipe that away?”

Fear. Had he been afraid?

_You have destroyed yourself, and for what?_

_For you._

He had always ever been a liability to her, one she had accepted without complaint or grumbling. She had been his ally, his protector, his friend. She had given of herself endlessly for his sake. That was the truth of who she was, and that was the fullness of her love. How could he ever possibly be worthy of it? Who was he, that she would lay down everything for him; her position, her reputation, her standing?

Like a diver facing a cliff, he set his jaw and looked her in the eye. She had been weeping, but she was calm now, her beautiful face composed, her kind eyes still. He swallowed; his chest ached again, but not because he had been punched. She had faced her own imaginary djinn, it seemed, and once again she shamed him with her courage. His throat tightened, and she seemed waver before his eyes, his vision blurring strangely. Was he-?

He heard a rustle of fabric and her soft step, felt her hand touch his face, her thumb brushing away the tears. “Demin,” he managed, “I don’t understand.”

“I think you do better than you realize.” She pursed her lips into a very small, almost abashed smile. “You have a right to your anger, even if it was…inelegantly expressed.” He had to smile too at that, just a little, grateful both for the reproof and its gentleness. She didn’t move her hand, and he was grateful for that, as well. “It was not just myself touched by what I said.”

He shrugged, trying for indifference. “They all expect the worst of me anyway. That I might be involved in… less than chaste activities is a surprise to no one. Only who I might be involved in them with.”

“All the same.” Her eyes fixed on his. “I hope that you, in turn, can forgive me.”

“For what?” he gaped. He shook his head. “I would not want you go against your nature and lie to protect me, and I never should have expected you to lie to protect yourself. The only thing I have to forgive you for is being too forgiving.”

Her smile curved deeper. “That’s fair, I suppose.”

They looked at each other for a silent moment, and he wanted to pour himself out at her feet, tell her the full depth and breadth and desperation of his love. But Elvish failed him, and once again (to his surprise), his native language came to his rescue. A single phrase in Drow, meant to express fealty, but somehow perfectly fitting for her as well. “ _Vaes ssrit,_ Demin.” A small line of expectant confusion marked her brow, and he translated. “You are all. To me, you are.”

Her eyes grew bright as she stroked his face, brushing back loose strands of hair. “Oh, Solaufein,” she breathed. “My star and shadow. You are my measure, my touchstone.” Her fingers worked their way into his hair, loosening the tie that held it. “You are the song in my heart,” she whispered, slowly drawing his lips towards hers. “The fire in my soul.”

Elvish hadn’t failed _her_ , he thought enviously for a half second. But then the ache in his chest vanished, and he knew it was because she was its only cure. Time itself was gone, replaced with her alone. His Demin. The thought lit him within like a bonfire – strong and powerful and wonderful beyond measure, and she was _his_. He held her hard against him, banishing that imaginary djinn to the farthest planes, because no, he could never give this up. _You do not belong to me_ , she had said, and he realized that of course she was right. They belonged to each other.

The kiss seemed to have no end, until she grasped the back of his head too hard, and he could not keep himself from flinching. She pulled away, concerned, gently probing the bruised area. “Kirlin had to knock sense into my thick head,” he explained, wincing again. “In his defense, I did ask for it.” She sighed and wove her fingers through his hair, resting her forehead against his.

“I am not sure that I should ask for greater detail.”

“Not if you do not wish your opinion of me sunk even further.”

The corner of her mouth twitched, and she closed her eyes. A second later, the warmth of Rillifane’s grace washed through him, and it occurred to him that he had never realized just how _good_ it felt to be healed. Or perhaps it was just her.

“Madman,” she said softly, opening her eyes. She rested her hands on his shoulders, looking at him with peevish affection. He raised his arms to tie his hair back again, but she pressed on his shoulders. “Leave it. I like it down.”

“You do?”

“Of course.”

“But I thought you preferred it the other way.”

“I do. But I also like it down.”

He lowered his arms, glaring at her. “Maiden’s mercy, female. How am I to know how best to please you if you do not tell me these things?” She laughed, embracing him again.

“You may please me by being yourself, love. That is all you have ever had to do.”

He made a face, even as he held her tight. “That is entirely too vague. And after today, overly generous.” He sighed into her hair. “I did not return here solely to apologize.”

“Hmm?” Her voice was muffled.

“I also came back to tell you that I think I should leave.”

She pulled back a degree, arms still around him. “I see.”

“My presence here has exacerbated old wounds and given ammunition to those with grievances. Leaving may be the only for tranquility to be restored. But…if I did go…” He steeled himself, his mouth going dry. “Would you come with me?”

She gazed at him, and every attempt to read her expression left him with no answers. And after a silence more unbearable than any he had experienced in his life, she said, very quietly, “Yes. I think I would.” She held up a finger. “ _If_ it is the Leaflord’s will that I do.”

He tried to swallow away the tightness in his throat. “How will you know?”

“I think that very soon I will know the mind of Suldanessellar, and thus my place here.” Solaufein nodded stiffly, and she added, almost more to herself, “I would like to think he would not part us now.” She moved from his arms, taking his hands in hers and interlacing their fingers. Neither spoke then, as they looked down at their joined hands.

“Regardless of what occurs,” he said, finally finding his words, “know this: I came to the surface to find my future. I found you.” She lifted her head, her lips quivering, and he kicked himself mentally. When was he going to learn how to say things to her that _didn’t_ make her cry? She never cried when he kissed her, though, so he decided to do that instead.

The door opened, and for both of them, the instinct to separate and pretend they had not been caught at everything was immediate. But then, just as quickly, it was replaced by a reckless indifference – after all, what did it matter now? They continued to kiss defiantly, ignoring the throat-clearing, until Elhan finally spoke.

“Good to know that you can still enjoy yourselves.”

Solaufein raised an eyebrow coolly, and Demin coughed. “Your pardon, Elhan,” she said. “It’s been a rather emotional morning.”

“That it has.” Elhan looked between the two of them. “That was quite the fireball you lobbed in there, Demin. There are gnomes in Halruaa who would dearly love to know how you managed a blast radius like that.” Her shoulders dipped ruefully, and Solaufein, still flush with the sensation of no longer giving a damn, slipped an arm around her, pulling her closer to his side. The movement did not go unnoticed, but Elhan’s expression was too guarded for easy recognition. “It may give you some ease to know it was not _quite_ as shocking as it could have been. I think a great many people had their suspicions, though I couldn’t say where the general opinion lies.”

Demin nodded vaguely. “Naren said you were meeting with Ellesime and the Guildmasters?”

“I was. The Jewelers are still behind you, as is the Boughstirrer. But I think you’d have to rip out his grove saplings with your bare hands and use them club baby rabbits to death before you could really draw his ire.” Demin smiled, looking a little embarrassed, and Elhan added, “Unfortunately, Ryelle seems rather uncomfortable with the revelation, and of course, Kilel is utterly insufferable at the moment.”

“And Favelien?” Solaufein asked.

“Strangely silent throughout, though that may be because every time he opens his mouth, he’s been glared down by the priests. Whether that Silverbark of yours was elected to speak for them or he’s just taken it on himself, they are definitely unmoved by all this, Demin.” He looked at her gently. “Rest assured your troops still love you, if nothing else.”

She ducked her head, touching her holy symbol with her fingertips. “So what happens now?”

“By order of the Queen, at sunset we are all to meet in the temple, and she will petition the Leaflord.” Elhan shrugged slightly. “It’s the only thing left to do.” She nodded again.

“I knew it would be soon.”

Elhan’s eyes rested on them again, and he seemed to understand. He straightened his shoulders, and said, “I should go. I will see you both this evening.”

When he was gone, Demin turned and stared out the broad arched windows down into the city. “Sunset,” she murmured. She leaned against one of the reading tables, eyes unfocused. “I suppose we wait, then.”

Solaufein stood beside her, covering her hand with his. “We wait,” he agreed.

She rested her head on his shoulder; he stretched his neck to tuck his cheek against her hair. It was still and quiet, and they were together. In silence, they waited.


	17. Deus ex Arbora

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Oh my children. Why must you seek after troubles?”_

The sun was slipping towards the distant horizon below the high trees, its orange light cutting between the bare winter boughs. Ellesime had asked, but not commanded, that the temple be vacated for an hour or so before she made her official petition, to partake in the silence and solitude. This was simply too private for peering eyes. She had lived a very long time, and this was only the third time she had had to approach her father thus. And the instance before this… _Let me be wiser now than I was then_ , she thought.

She closed the sanctum doors, and leaned against them, chewing on the inside of her cheek. She did not want to do this. Somehow, a little voice in her mind said, she should have been able to keep it all from coming to this. Would Rillifane agree? She took a fortifying breath and skirted the still-unmoved branch that dominated the center of the room. She removed her diadem – platinum stars interspersed with silver ivy – and set it carefully on the floor. Next to it, she slipped off her shoes, and bare of head and foot, stood before the altar. She sank to her knees, spreading her arms wide, and waited. It was a still evening, with no wind to shake the branches and make the trees dance. She closed her eyes, focusing on each deep breath, and let her mind empty, like water slipping between her fingers. When it was time, he would speak.

**_Ellesime._**

“Father.”

**_Why come you so, daughter?_ **

“We have no Whiteleaf to stand for us, Father. Only you may rectify that now.”

There was a considering silence, and then a soft wind brushed her face with a sound like a sigh. **_My strange children. Why must you do things with such haste, and in such anger? There is silence in my temple, and frenzy without. Tell me of these things, daughter. I feel them, but do not know them._**

Ellesime inhaled deeply, ordering her thoughts. “These are old fires, Father, burned down to ember and ash, stirred afresh and fed again on kindling of a newer gathering. And strong voices in the city have been raised against the one who was your Whiteleaf. I think she sought to head off the rising tide of factions by stepping down, but...that attempt was not entirely successful.” She had to laugh, softly and ruefully. “But knowing her, I do not think that there is any way that Demin could have done differently than what she has. I look back on the path we have travelled since Jone- since the Exile’s defeat, and there is no fork I can see her following that would lead us to another destination. Pressed to her extremity, she answers with an open heart. She cannot help it.”

The wind sighed again, this time with a frustrated affection. **_Dearest Demin. My wild heart, faithful but heedless. Her kindness is a mountain_** ** _–_** ** _great and boundless, and sometimes from its height, she cannot see her better judgment. There is no room in her for falseness._**

“Even if it could preserve her against the ill will of others,” Ellesime agreed.

**_Even so. And she so loves my dark sister_ ** **_’_ ** **_s son. In truth, I am glad of it, for I know she would not bestow her affection upon the unworthy, but not all know her as you and I._ **

“That is true,” Ellesime said, smiling fondly. The smile faded as she added, “And if not for her erstwhile position, that affection likely would have been better tolerated. Many see a troubling disposition in many of her choices, and to them, her love for Solaufein is simply another symptom of a greater malady.”

**_And you, my daughter? What do you see?_ **

Ellesime worried at her lip for a moment. After a careful silence, she said, “I see an imbalance of blame, Father. And…and I think it is not right. I have sinned as greatly as she, and yet she alone bears the weight of approbation!” She paused for a calming breath. “I would gladly carry that burden for her – let her do your work and love as she will without shame. And yet it is not my actions that are peered over and picked to death.” The Queen sighed, the old shame prickling her within. “But I see her through the eyes of affection, and that is a lens that has… It has led me astray before.”

**_It has,_** the Leaflord agreed quietly, **_but even the gods may be tripped on that snare. Love in all its forms is a mighty thing, capable of steering one to transcendence or ruin. And it is a sad truth that the greater one_** ** _’_** ** _s responsibilities, the more carefully one must guard against its eddies and undertows._**

Ellesime nodded again, not trusting herself to speak, but the wind moved again, and this time, the air across her cheek felt distinctly like a gentle hand. **_My daughter, you do not need me to tell you the cost of your error. You have seen it with your own eyes, and felt it in your heart. Ofttimes, such knowledge is a punishment greater than any scourge, its scars unseen, but present nonetheless. While I have no wish for you to suffer, I am thankful that you know that pain, for it is those who do not understand that every action has a price who are the least suited to have charge of others. And I am likewise thankful that you are not alone in that understanding. Others have felt the sting of their follies, and are wiser for it._**

**_Demin_ ** **_’_ ** **_s propensity to rashness is an imperfection, to be sure, one that can tire even the most patient of trees. But it is imperfection that leads you mortals to do such marvelous things. It is the reason for_ _YOU_ _, my daughter - it was necessary that my people be led by a mortal, with all of mortality_ ** **_’_ ** **_s attendant frailties._ **

Ellesime’s eyes dropped abashedly. “It would seem you are more forgiving of our frailties than we ourselves.”

The wind shifted slightly, creaking the branches in something very like a shrug. **_And one of those frailties is a lack of scope in your vision. You see the ripples on the pond, but you cannot see far enough to follow them down the river. I do not say this to shame you. It is simply a fact of which you must be mindful. But oh my children_** , breathed the voice on the wind. **_Why must you seek after troubles? Do they not find you readily enough on their own? When no conflict assails you from without, why do you create it from within? In the great turning of the worlds and planes, there is more meaning to be found in harmony than discord._** There was another sigh; the trees bent and swayed with it. **_Let us have an end on this. Let them come to me and we shall know each other_** ** _’_** ** _s hearts._**

⁂⁂⁂

It was a subdued gathering that converged on the temple as the winter evening faded into twilight. Somberly, the people of Suldanessellar filed into the sanctum, pressing along the walls and aisles, everywhere they could find room. And when there was no more space, they flowed out beyond the doors, waiting. Heads turned and voices whispered as Demin entered, shoulders straight and gaze high, with Solaufein a step behind. She kept her eyes fixed on the altar, and he kept his on her. The curious could gawk and the judgmental could glower, if they wished. They had nothing more to hide.

There was restlessness in the air, an expectant, buzzing cloud of murmurs. Everyone nudged at their neighbor, speaking low and anxiously. They all had their own theories on what would befall them in the next few moments, and they were all unsure if they truly wanted to be right. The priests, standing between the altar and the people, looked caught between excitement and fear. What if one of them were singled out and called upon? What would they do?

Ellesime remained kneeling as the sanctum filled. She did not seem aware of the swell and fall of nervous conversation behind her, lapping through the great room like a tide. There was not even a twitch of movement in her shoulders as reaction, which only further fueled the throng’s nerves. And just as they began to wonder if she would ever move, she stood, and turned to face them. Her face was still, and strangely serene. “My people,” she said, “the office of Whiteleaf is that of the Leaflord’s highest favor. It is meant for one who can stand before us, to guide us in the proper reverence of our god. One who does honor to Rillifane by exemplifying the virtues of the Oak - strength of heart, steadfastness of mind, and generosity of spirit.  It is a great honor, and a greater burden, and only one who can labor cheerfully in the service of Rillifane and of Suldanessellar is suited to it.” Her eyes swept across the crowd. “People of Suldanessellar. Children of the Heartwoods. It is Rillifane’s will that he know your hearts, and you his.”

She spread her arms wide, palms out and fingers spread. “Rillifane Rallathil! Great Oak! Father of the Heartwoods! Grant your people a sign, so they might know your priest!”

As she spoke, the temple began to brighten, every lamp growing steadily more radiant until it seemed the sun had risen once more. Likewise, the wind lifted, and rushed past faces and hands, whipping at hair and pulling at clothing.

An honor, and a burden. Every child in Suldanessellar knew from the cradle that it was their city’s privilege that Rillifane had chosen their city, and their temple, to be presided over by his highest priest, which in turn, placed an obligation on them as well. It was a reciprocal responsibility, meant to be shared in tandem. How had it all gone so wrong? How could it be mended?

It seemed the wind itself was asking the questions, and they could not help but try to cast about for the answers. Was it Joneleth the Exile? (What could be done now to remedy that mistake?) Was it the presence of the drow in the midst? (He was an exile too, after all.) Was it Demin herself? (Had she truly done wrong, or just not what was expected?)

**_We shall know each other_ ** **_’_ ** **_s hearts._ **

And then the light and wind were gone. The sanctum, and the entire temple, were plunged into utter darkness, so black that even Solaufein’s darkvision availed him virtually nothing. The only sound in the sudden, stunned silence was the ragged breath of the waiting crowd, and in the pressing dark, even that seemed loud as a hammer. Fingers brushed Solaufein’s hand, and he knew immediately who they belonged to. He squeezed Demin’s clutching hand, gripping it with all his strength. Minutes ticked by, but no one could judge their number.

Then there was a light.

It was no brighter than a candle flame, but in the supernatural murk, it flared like the sun. The warm, golden glow reached out, and all eyes were drawn to its source. Including Demin, who stared down in shock. The amber acorn that hung from a chain about her neck, the symbol of growth and beginnings, the reminder that even the strongest things had their start in small, shone brightly, lit from within. Her fingers slipped, nerveless, from Solaufein’s as the light grew, bathing the whole of the sanctum in its brilliance. She stared at Ellesime, tears in her eyes, and the Queen smiled.

“The sign is given!” Ellesime declared. “Whiteleaf Demin, come forward, and lead us in the praise of our god.”

⁂⁂⁂

Quiet had finally descended on the temple by midnight, but Demin could not have sought her bed if she had wanted to. It had been such a long day, filled with such wild happenings, that she could not herd her mind into anything like calm. So she wandered the now-empty corridors, trailing her fingers along the walls. The charge of energy hummed up her arms and through her body; she was giddy with it, light-headed and still reeling from the day. The most potent wine could not intoxicate her as this joy did.

There had been embracing and tears, solemn smiles and respectful bows, awkward hand clasps and stiff nods of the head. At some point in the tumult, she had lost sight of Solaufein, and she hadn’t seen him in the hours since. She stopped short. Before, in the library, he had spoken of leaving. Did he still think it necessary? Had he already gone?

She quickened her pace down the hallway, though she was not entirely sure where her feet were taking her. If she caught him, what would she say? She couldn’t try to talk him out of it again; it wouldn’t be fair. And if he had already left, was that simply the end of it? No good-bye, no remembrance? That thought almost made her angry, but it was an anger too diluted with the potential for heartache to have any heat. If he was gone, she would miss him. And that was the whole of it.

As she passed a door that led out onto one of the balconies, she thought she saw a figure out of the corner of her eye. She paused, opened the door, and then it occurred to her which balcony it was.

“I was feeling nostalgic for some reason,” Solaufein said in Common.

“That is a well constructed sentence,” she replied in kind. “Have you been practicing behind my back?”

He shot her a sidelong smile and switched back to Elvish. “Perhaps I came to enjoy my private pursuits for their own sake.”

“Then what do you need me for, if you take such pleasure in solitary endeavors?”

He laughed. “Are we still talking about speaking Common?”

“Are we?”

She smiled and touched his cheek; he flinched away, making a face. “You’re cold,” he complained. “Demin, it is far too cool a night for you to be running about without a cloak.” He sighed testily and opened his arms. “Come here.”

She smiled again, burrowing close against him, grateful for his drow warmth and his wool cloak. “So does this mean that you will be staying?” she asked softly. He took a moment to reply.

“Is it the Whiteleaf’s wish that I do?”

“No,” she answered frankly, tilting her head up to look him in the eye. “As I have said before, Whiteleaf is just a title.”

“But you looked so happy to receive it again.”

“I am,” she conceded. “Happy that the Leaflord and the city still wish my service. Happy to have been extended forgiveness and trust. But it is Demin asking if you are staying, not the Whiteleaf.”

He was quiet again, long enough that she was sure she wasn’t going to like his answer. “Is this what it feels like to be you?” he asked finally. “Having common sense tugging at your sleeve, and ignoring it anyway?” She opened her mouth to reply, trying to decide just how offended she should be, but he continued. “I do not want to, Demin. I have no desire to wander the face of Faerun, rootless and unwanted. And I’d probably pine for you, which would make the experience just that much more miserable.” He pursed his mouth thoughtfully. “I suppose having been reinstated despite your questionable choice of lovers, you are relatively safe from future challenge, so remaining might not be such a black mark against your name...” A dark little smirk crossed his lips. “And I will have you know I behaved myself. I had the childish urge to tell Favelien and Kilel that they should be especially faithful in the observance of their offerings for the foreseeable future, but I restrained it.”

Demin chuckled. “Thank you for that. There is no need to lord anything over them.” She sighed, dropping her eyes. “They weren’t _wrong_ , you know. I am…difficult. Who knows what histories might have been written if I made different choices?”

“They would be different. Who can say how?” Solaufein gave her back a brisk rub. “Kilel and Favelien, they…” He grumbled sourly, piecing together his phrasing. “ _Areion l'dothka solen_. Saw through drider’s eyes. Driders have no will of their own, so they cannot help but focus on the things they are told to. They have no other perspective.”

“So seeing as they do means one is not accounting for other points of view?” Demin pondered that. “A clever metaphor.”

“It is a strange thing to hear a surfacer say that.”

“I have learned to account for other points of view myself. Though not perhaps as well as I should.”

He shrugged. “Does anyone?”

She chuckled again. “I suppose not.” She shivered; even sharing his warmth, the night really was too chilly to be out too long without any sort of outerwear. He noticed, and rubbed her back again.

“We should go inside,” he said. “And perhaps…return to your home?”

That sounded like an excellent idea. The effervescent high was finally beginning to dissipate, and it was difficult to find anything wrong with going home and curling up in a nice warm bed with a nice warm Solaufein. Except… “Only if you will be staying past morning. Because I do have my pride. And I will not be giving you one last tearful lay before you go off to pine. The pathos of such a thing might be in a bard’s purview, but it is not in mine.”

“Troublesome female,” he muttered, a half smile belying his words. “You drive a hard bargain.”

They went inside, arm in arm, descending the steps toward the main doors, but as they passed the sanctum, Demin stopped. “Go on,” she said. “I’ll meet you there. There’s something I should do first.”

He raised an eyebrow, but did not question. “Very well. I may even use the front door.”

She swatted at his upper arm, and he smiled. She waited until he had exited, the great doors closing behind him, before turning towards the sanctum. The branch still lay on the floor, though it seemed to have shrunk somewhat. Relic hunters and souvenir takers had helped themselves in the excitement, and she shook her head with a faint chuckle. She was a bit tempted to snap off a twig herself, but that would be foolish. Best not to feed any mythology makers by adding to the trove of artifacts.

Instead, she made for the altar and gave her obeisance. “Thank you, my Lord,” she whispered. “I cannot thank you enough, for your trust and your grace which you give so generously. But I… I am sorry. I am so very sorry for the upheaval and turmoil my actions have caused.”

Above her head, the limbs rustled softly. **_My Demin,_** they murmured. **_So wise and so imprudent. I have never wished for your apology. But it is accepted nonetheless._**

She looked up, heart in her throat. “Thank you, my Lord.”

**_Never forget that I chose you out of love, dearest. Yours is a magnificent heart, and you are what my children need. And they, in turn, are what you need._ **

She nodded. “Of course, my Lord. I will do everything in my power to be deserving of your honor!”

**_I know that you will. And now, dearest child, if you wish to know what I would truly have of you..._**  
  
"Absolutely," she said eagerly.  
  
**_The night grows old. Do go to bed._**


	18. Dark Clouds Behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I know it will never be easy for you to make your way here among us.”_

Demin was up long before the sun, her mental to-do list overflowing. She paced as she dressed in the darkness, surprised that her rustling to and fro did not seem to disturb Solaufein in the slightest. He stirred, muttered something that sounded like his personal variation on an “all work and no play” admonition, and rolled back over. She shook her head and set off downstairs in search of her shoes. She’d had quite enough of no work, and there was so much to do. The thought was frankly invigorating.

First things first: the branch in the sanctum had to go. Mark of divine favor or wrath, it was officially a nuisance, and its time had come. Armed with a pair of shears, she attacked the limb, and in under an hour, had made significant progress in reducing the thing into something more manageable. It was a pleasant kind of labor; she had spent far too much time recently lost in her own thoughts and it felt good to do something that got the blood flowing. When she paused to pile the clipped twigs together more neatly, she realized she was being watched.

“Uh…Whiteleaf?” Three early-risen acolytes stood in the doorway, and the boldest of them spoke. “What are-” Realizing as soon as the words exited his mouth that the answer was obvious, he tried again. “ _why_ are-”

“I was awake,” she said briskly, taking up her shears again, “and it needed doing.”

The acolytes traded glances, and the first spoke again. “Can we help?”

“That would be greatly appreciated.”

By the time the rest of the priests had arrived for the morning worship, she and her helpers had hauled out the remainder of the branch and were in the process of sweeping the floor, much to everyone’s bemusement. “Tafaelen,” Demin hailed, handing the surprised Silverbark her broom. “If you would be so good as to finish this up, I believe I need to wash my hands before the rites this morning.” She lowered her voice, catching his eye. “And after the service, I would like to have a word in my office, if you would be so kind.”

Immediately following the rites, she repaired to her office, and had begun work on a stack of notes, one each for a list of names she had mentally compiled, when Tafaelen knocked lightly at the door. “You wanted to see me?” he asked.

“Please have a seat,” she said, not looking up until after she had signed her name to the missive in front of her. “I wished to speak with you regarding your actions during my…intermission.”

He cleared his throat. “I apologize if I seemed presumptuous, Whiteleaf. I can understand that you might feel-”

“Not at all. I am grateful that you acted decisively and helped preserve the unity of the temple. I know that even those many decades your senior looked to you in my absence. I had always thought you showed strong leadership as master of the acolytes, but this showed me something greater. I am pleased to see that when faced with circumstances that called for a broader scope, you faced the challenge with equanimity.”

“If I may be honest, Whiteleaf,” Tafaelen said, looking abashed, “I did so only because it seemed that if I did not, no one else would.” She smiled.

“And that is just the sort of situation in which true leadership outs.” Her smile faded, and she leaned forward over her desk. “But what I must be sure of, Silverbark, is your reasoning. Just as some had couched their opposition in a very personal dislike of me, an excess of love has proven equally unwelcome. I will have no worship of myself in the Leaflord’s temple. That is not the purpose of this place.”

He glanced at the floor, and then looked up, straightening in his seat. “Your actions have never rendered you unfit for the office of Whiteleaf, and therefore, you deserved the continued support of your subordinates. That is the whole of it.”

“And you convinced your fellows of this?”

He shook his head. “It was a group consensus, Whiteleaf.” His smile was vaguely embarrassed. “Ironically, it was Latiel’s fall that brought us to it. We all had to examine ourselves very thoroughly. And I believe that some did not like what they found.”

She searched his face in silence for a moment, then relaxed her shoulders and smiled again. “I see. Thank you. You may go, Silverbark – but I do have a pair of tasks for you.”

“Of course.”

“In an hour or so, I will need a pair of acolytes to deliver these messages to various individuals.” She indicated the stack of papers at her elbow. “Hopefully I will have them finished by then.”

“Absolutely, Whiteleaf. And the other?”

“I would like you to think on the strengths and weaknesses of your fellow priests, and bring me a short list of those you consider to be particularly well organized and level-headed.”

“I can do that,” he said slowly, giving her a puzzled look. “But for what purpose?”

She laughed lightly, and gestured towards the open door. “I still need a new secretary.”

⁂⁂⁂

Solaufein knew, in the depths of his heart, that he should not enjoy saying what he was about to, but he couldn’t help it. “No, Kirlin.”

The captain, whose eyes had been alight with excitement an instant, deflated like a poked jelly. “Why not?”

“Because it would be counter-productive at this point. I know you’re on fire to constantly try new things, but consistency is important.” He glanced down at the roster of names in his hand. “Especially with this lot.” Kirlin grumbled in persecution, but his reply was forestalled by Naren’s approach.

“Solaufein!” she called. “The Queen would like to speak with you.”

Puzzled by the mid-afternoon summons, he followed her up to the palace, leaving Kirlin to stew over their training plans. As he was shown into her chamber, he passed the departing General Elhan, who raised a significant eyebrow at him, but said nothing. Something of import had been discussed, something involving him. That feeling was only redoubled when the Queen flashed him a brilliant smile. “Do have a seat!” she said brightly. He did, watching her cautiously. She looked remarkably cheerful, and while the forebrain marked her demeanor as the natural result of seeing her good friend restored as Whiteleaf, as well as the hopeful return of tranquility to her domain, an old instinct watched her out of the corner of its eye, ready for anything.

“I apologize, Solaufein, for summoning you away on such short notice, but I wished to meet with you as soon as possible.”

“I am at your service, Your Majesty,” he replied guardedly.

She beamed, and sat opposite him, hands folded together. “And I thank you for that, most genuinely. You have been remarkably good natured about placing yourself at my disposal, and that is appreciated. But tell me,” she said, “since I have torn you away from the barracks and your work with the young Captain: how do you find it?”

“It is…agreeable. I feel as though I am contributing something to the welfare of the city, if in a small way.”

“And that is important to you?”

He watched her for a moment, trying to gauge his reply. Had they not had this conversation before? What was she trying to get him to say? “Of course, Your Majesty. I’m afraid that is one habit brought with me from the Underdark that does not seem breakable.”

“I see little reason to break perfectly useful habits.” She fixed her eyes on him, and he didn't dare look away. “So it pleases you?”

He got the feeling his answer would be very important. He cleared his throat. “Yes, it...is an enjoyable challenge.”

“And that is your great strength, I think. You take pleasure in challenge. So many shrink at the very thought.” He was trying to decide whether or not he should thank her when she stood and whisked a piece of paper from her desk. “While I have you here, I wonder that I might have your input on a few matters of…external security.”

He blinked at her, bewildered. “I mean no offense, Your Majesty, but wasn’t the General just here?”

“And he and I spoke at length. But your perspective is always welcomed and encouraged. I believe you have a great deal to contribute to the city, more even than you think, and I hope you would not indulge in false modesty for my sake.” She held out the paper, which he took, unable to shake the feeling that she had just handed him something far more symbolic than a sheet of vellum. “I know it has been a hard road for you here, Solaufein,” she said quietly, “and I know it will never be easy for you to make your way here among us. I hope that that challenge too remains a pleasure for you. A lesser heart might find it unbearably trying.”

He shrugged, keeping his eyes fixed on the paper. It was a briefing on human merchant activity through the Heartwoods, and he could already tell her he saw a potentially troubling pattern in the number of Calimshite caravans skirting the elvish borders on their way north. That indicated they likely had something to hide. Illicit goods of some kind, perhaps even slaves. “There is no easy path for me, Your Majesty, anywhere. But I have made my peace with that.”

⁂⁂⁂

Her dispatches had been distributed by the eager, energetic hands of the young, and as the evening rites came to their end, Demin waited anxiously to see the response. Both worship services of the day had been heavily attended, which was unsurprising considering the events of the previous evening, but it made it difficult for her to be sure who was in the temple for what reason.

But as the crowd thinned, dispersing out into the cool evening, Demin saw that the purpose of the morning’s hurried letter writing had been fulfilled. Eyeing each other, and her, with varying levels of interest, confusion, and distaste, stood the worthies of Suldanessellar – General Elhan, Favelien of the Collegium, and every one of the guild masters, including Kilel. She let out a small sigh of relief. She’d been almost positive at least a few wouldn’t bother turning up. It would seem she had them sufficiently intrigued to come anyway, and that boded well.

A junior priestess still loitered, tending the lamps, and Demin dismissed her, trying not to be brusque in her impatience. When the younger female was gone, Demin quickly marched across the sanctum, closing the double doors and turning back to her expectant audience. “You’re wondering why I asked you here,” she said.

“Astute as ever, Demin,” Elhan said, casting a weighed sidelong look at Favelien, who returned the gaze with equal affection. Demin cleared her throat and brought her hands together purposefully. The clap wasn’t loud, but it was enough to return all eyes to her.

“Firstly,” she said, “I would like to apologize to all of you.”

The questioning silence was broken by Salenas of the Merchants’ Guild. “Apologize for what, Whiteleaf?”

“That I did not do this sooner. I had hoped, in stepping down, to have rendered unnecessary such spectacle as we have recently undergone.” She looked around the group, from person to person, until her gaze fell on Kilel. She met his eyes, one eyebrow slightly elevated. “I would like to thank you most particularly, Guildmaster, for your…tenacity. You forced me to scrutinize myself in some detail to determine if I was truly the person you claimed me to be.”

“Are you?” he asked stiffly. She didn’t look away.

“No. At least, not entirely.” She stepped past him, into the center of their half-formed circle, gesturing that they should gather closer. With some sideways looks, they did. “My friends, we are greatly blessed. We are in positions that allow us to do much good for this city, and it is our duty to do so, but more than that, it is our privilege. I personally count myself as fortunate beyond measure that the Leaflord chose to forgive my failings and errors in judgment and instead reminded me of my strengths and responsibilities. And in his spirit, I would hope that we might all do the same for each other.” She let her eyes move around the circle, coming to Favelien last. “We cannot change the past. We can only learn from it. Let us challenge one another to be excellent students.”

Reflection filled the quiet that followed, until Ryelle said, glancing towards the floor, “You could have said _something_ about Solaufein sooner.”

“And we all saw how well a public announcement was received,” Demin replied, with an amusement that surprised even her. She spread her hands. “Damnation faced me on every side, Ryelle.”

“Well, if we are being so very open and forthright, perhaps now would be the appropriate time to explain why you have taken up with him to begin with,” Kilel grunted.

“Because I wanted to,” she said crisply. “I love him and I value his companionship. You do not have to like it, Kilel. I ask only that you tolerate it.” She shot him a well-meaning smile. “But that is a lesson for us all, I think. Does it not become us better to leave these dark clouds behind and face the future with something more approaching harmony?”

There was another thoughtful silence, and then heads began to nod agreement, including, finally, Kilel’s. She nodded as well, sighing with relief. “I thank you all for hearing me out. I have kept you too long already. Have a pleasant evening, and thank you again.”

Elhan opened the sanctum doors, and one by one, they departed. Except Favelien, who lagged behind. “Killing us with kindness then, Demin?”

“I meant every word,” she said, staring at him evenly.

An eyebrow quirked. “I am sure that you did. But you cannot tell me there was no element of performance there. And most certainly not of calculation.”

“And if there was?”

“You may take comfort in knowing that your point was made.”

“I should hope so. Consider, Magister, that if we had all been more open and less apt to make assumptions of one another, we likely would not have found ourselves straining under the weight of such unnecessary dramatics. I see my share of the blame and I have claimed it for my own.”

He scoured her face for a moment. “But do I claim mine? Is that was the implied question at the end of that sentence?”

She calmly returned the gaze. “Perhaps. But the questions you ask yourself, and their answers, are ultimately your own affair, Favelien.”

“Fair enough,” he said quietly, and inclined his head. “Good evening. Whiteleaf.”

He turned, and was halfway to the door when she added, “I do hope the next time someone finds my decision-making capability to be a cause of concern that they will simply say so to my face. I think that would save us all a great deal of grief.”

⁂⁂⁂

Solaufein sat at the small desk tucked into a corner of his room in the barracks and glared down at the paper in front of him, irritated with himself. His penmanship was truly atrocious. The importance of an elegant hand had been beaten into him, quite literally, from an early age, and he had always thought his script very fine, but something just looked off in Elvish. And then there was the _reason_ he was writing to begin with, which was an entirely separate source of vexation. Farther recrimination was thankfully cut short by a knock at the door. He tilted his head at the sound. “Demin?”

“How did you know it was me?” she asked from the other side.

“It sounded like you. Come in.”

She did, and looked around the small room with interest. “You know, I think I like this better than your room in the temple. It feels more like the sort of place you would inhabit. It suits you.” On a shelf over the desk, a twig sat conspicuously apart. There was something familiar about it. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Looks like a bit of tree to me,” he said innocently.

“And why do you have it?”

“I liked the shape.”

“It’s from the sanctum, isn’t it? Oh, Solaufein, not you too.”

He turned in his chair. “Not me what? I wasn’t planning on genuflecting towards it twice daily, if that’s what you were afraid of.” She crossed her arms, and he continued steadily, “You forced the whole of the city to decide what they would rather have: a priestess who truly does Rillifane’s will but occasionally makes them uncomfortable, or a safer, less…volatile option.”

“But-”

“You said yourself that Rillifane would not have named you if their hearts had been truly turned against you. Be proud of yourself, Demin, just this once. I promise it won’t hurt.”

She sat heavily on the foot of his bed, curling her lip at him contentiously. He smiled, and turned back to his work, which melted the smile into a scowl of annoyance. Her eyebrows lifted questioningly, and he sighed. “I think the Queen is up to something.”

“Oh?”

He told her about his meeting with Ellesime, and then added, somewhat shame-faced, “And then after I left I felt that I hadn’t done a very good job explaining why exactly those caravans struck me as troublesome, so now I’m…” He took a fortifying breath, bracing for her reaction. “Writing a report.”

Demin kept her face very still. She would not laugh. By every god of the Seldarine, she would not. “She did not ask you to?”

“No.”

“But you feel compelled to nonetheless?”

“Yes.”

“And why does this make you feel that she is up to something?”

“Because I know when I am being maneuvered.” He looked at her beseechingly. “You would tell me if you knew, wouldn’t you?”

“If I would not be breaking a confidence, of course.”

“And is she?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Are you saying that just to appease me?”

“No!” He sighed again, leaning back in his chair, and she stood, smiling. “But if that is your charge, I will leave you to your self-appointed labors.”

He reached out, and snaked an arm around her waist, pulling her close. “I'd rather this.” He buried his face against her breasts with a contented sigh. “And what a convenient height difference, too,” he commented, voice muffled.

She looked down at the top of his head with amusement. “If you’re trying to seduce me, love, you’ll have to do better than that.”

“Oh, I see.” He tilted his head upwards pugnaciously. “Now that we may finally be open, you require seduction. Very well.” He turned his head, lips brushing her enticingly as he undid a button on her bodice with his teeth; she tried to fight back a shiver and failed.

“That is not what I-” She dug her teeth into her lower lip to keep from moaning. “Besides…not here.”

“Why not?” Another button fell victim. “The door is closed, and you don’t make _that_ much noise.”

She gave his tied-back hair a reproving tug. “Scoundrel.” She stepped back, re-buttoning her dress. “You’ll just be climbing in my window at midnight anyway.”

“For that, I won’t. I’ll wait at least an hour.”

She smiled then, a tide of affection washing over her that washed away every trace of tension and left only laughter behind. Let the whole world wonder why she wanted him – this was why. She leaned down to take his face in her hands and kissed him gently, whispering, “Are you happy here, Solaufein?”

He gazed up at her with his frank garnet eyes. “I’m still getting used to the sensation, so I’m not entirely sure, but…I think so, yes.” He covered her hands with his, dark against light. “Are you happy to have me here?”

“More than I would have thought possible.”

He smiled faintly. “Being the source of another’s happiness is an unusual state for me. But I enjoy it. It is unexpectedly rewarding.” He released her hands, gazing up at her with that strange lightness in his heart that still surprised him every time he felt it. He suspected it always would.

But in the edge of his vision, the unfinished report mocked him, and he glanced at it sidelong with a martyred expression. “What have I gotten myself into, Demin?” he asked plaintively.

She chuckled. “Something else you enjoy.” She kissed him again, and departed.

He turned back to his report, shaking his head. She was right, naturally. It was a small thing, but it mattered. He had thought when he came to the surface that he was coming to a place where nothing was the same, and in large part, that was true. But old skills could be repurposed, old tools refashioned, and he could be remade, the same but different. All his life, he had labored for the glory of others, but now the idea of glory seemed unimportant. There was no House or Matron now, only the city, and her. And to his great surprise and gratitude, he found he had something of worth to give to both. He could help protect Suldanessellar, and he could make Demin smile. It was not glorious, but it was good. And it was enough.


	19. Epilogue: Something New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You deserve this. And I am proud of you.”_

There were flowers on her desk, piled in a heap of blue and white and yellow. Demin paused in the doorway of her office, head cocked, trying to envision the chain of events that would end with a mound of wild flowers appearing on her desk. No truly sensible scenario presented itself.

But their presence was fitting, she thought as she scooped them together into something resembling a bouquet. Today was the Budding, the celebration of the vernal equinox, and while perhaps she could not explain the sudden appearance of flowers in her office, she could appreciate their symbolism. She lifted a pale blue blossom, breathing in its sweet scent. She loved spring, when the sap stirred and the woods reawakened to vibrant life, and the Budding was the time the followers of Rillifane set aside to rejoice in new beginnings of every sort. It seemed particularly fitting this year.

“Do you like them?”

Solaufein stood in the door, attempting to cover the apprehension in his eyes with nonchalance. He glanced over his shoulder. “You know, that Kennet isn’t nearly pompous enough to be your secretary. He let me walk right by him and didn’t even glare.”

Demin smiled. “I find him refreshing.” She tapped the flower in her hand against her lips. “This was your doing?”

“…Yes.”

“What in Rillifane’s name possessed you?”

He heaved a sigh, and muttered to himself, “You don’t like them. I should have known. That’s what I get for taking Kirlin’s advice.”

“No! I do like them! They were a lovely surprise.” She tucked the flower into her hair. “I only did not think them your handiwork.” She smiled at him, adding another flower to the first. “So this is what you were up to when you left earlier? Gathering me flowers?”

“My mind was occupied. I couldn’t stay in bed,” he said, sounding almost apologetic, then burst out, “Why is she doing this to me, Demin? What have I done to deserve this?”

“You have been your extraordinary self, as usual,” she replied firmly. She reached up, adjusting the collar of his surcote. “Anyway, the uniform becomes you.”

He sighed again, then twitched his shoulders. She could see her statement sinking in, and it obviously pleased him. She struggled to keep a straight face. “Do you think so?” he asked, preening slightly.

“Absolutely. I assure you that you will be the inspiration of many an indecent thought today.” She hooked her fingers in his swordbelt, smiling archly. “And if that isn’t good enough for you, think of it this way: now you outrank Kirlin.”

He rolled his eyes dismissively. “I have never needed rank to sway Kirlin.”

“But he is hardly a slavish follower, love. You sway him because he respects you.” Her smile grew impish. “Even Elhan does, though he is loathe to admit it. How do you think this would have come to pass if he did not?”

“You do not think the Queen would have simply run him over if it pleased her?”

“Ellesime would never make such a decision without Elhan’s express agreement,” Demin said, in a tone that brooked no disagreement. “She would not think it her place to name an officer to his command if he did not think that person worthy of the honor.”

“She is the Queen. Everything is her place. And you cannot tell me it was his idea to raise me from barely better than a refugee to _Colonel_ in one swoop.”

Demin laughed; she would have to cede that point. “That is true. Her hand is most definitely visible in that.”

“And why,” he added, looking vindicated, “must she do it today? In front of the entire city?!”

“It is the Budding, Solaufein. It is the perfect time.”

“Yes, yes, new beginnings,” he grumbled. “I still feel I am being made a spectacle.”

“You are not,” she said seriously. “You deserve this.” She rested her palm against his cheek. “And I am proud of you.”

His ill-humor faded, and with a faint smile, he leaned his forehead against hers. “Are you truly?”

“Of course I am. How can I not be, seeing the one I love honored for his talents and his worth?” She turned her head slightly, the better to look into his eyes, and stroked his face gently. “And you do have worth.”

He was silent for a moment, then asked, “Do you remember the night of Irenicus’s defeat? In the throne room?”

“Yes. What of it?”

“You were crying. At the time, I could not understand why. I do now.”

“Oh?”

“You are kind,” he said simply. “That is why you wept. Of course, that night, I was still only familiar with kindness in the most abstract sense, so I hope you were able to forgive my confusion.”

She smiled. “You _were_ quite perplexed, but…in a way, I think I found it charming.”

“I still am frequently perplexed, so I hope you will continue to find it so.”

“Likely,” she chuckled.

“But that is also why you have seen my worth.”

A faint blush stained her cheeks, but her smile was pleased. “I also told you that night that on the surface, males and females are equal,” she said. “And you said that you and I were not. Do you still believe that?”

“I…” He shrugged. “I suppose I don’t.” He glanced meaningfully down at his mail and Guard surcote, in the green and blue of Suldanessellar. “After all, we are both servants of the city and the Queen.” She smiled again at that; he returned it, and then his brow drew as he parsed his thoughts. “But more than that, we…we fit together. It is a thing I had never seen before, never dreamed existed, even when…” He gave a small shake of his head, wonderment in his eyes, then looked back at her with a small smile. “No, I don’t believe that. You have changed my mind.”

“But not too much, I hope. I rather like your mind.”

He sighed, rolling his eyes. “Difficult female.”

“I thought you liked that about me.”

“I do,” he replied, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Now, do you not have some sort of religious duty to be about?”

“In point of fact, I do. Right after the investiture of the city guard’s newest colonel.”

He gazed at her smiling face, and dropped his head with good-natured defeat. “I love you, you trial.” Her smile broadened into a mischievous grin. 

“And I love you. But I believe you are right; there are duties we should see to.” She crossed back to her desk, snatching up another flower to add to her hair. “There. I feel appropriately adorned now.” With an affectionate shake of his head, he offered her his arm; she took it, and together they exited her office and went out of the temple, out into the bright spring morning, and the days beyond.


End file.
